True Colours
by Zea T
Summary: A road trip to see Sam turns into the start of a long nightmare for Bumblebee.
1. Chapter 1

**True Colours**

_A trip to see Sam turns into the start of a long nightmare for Bumblebee_

Disclaimer: I don't own _Transformers_ – they belong to their license holders and licensees, and, in this incarnation, to Michael Bay, DreamWorks and Paramount. I'm making no profit from this.

Author's Note: This is a movie universe fic. I'm not entirely happy with it, but the idea just wouldn't leave me alone. Set post-RotF, although that's not really important to the plot. One continuity note: I've made use the Decepticon assault helicopter Grindor. I'm sort of uncertain whether either Grindor or Blackout made it to the end of the films. Feel free to imagine that I'm referring to another, near-identical Decepticon helicopter ;-)

Rated T, with warnings for mild bad language and some serious depression and angst from Bumblebee along the way. I promise to put the 'bots back where I found them when I'm done. Comments, reviews or suggestions for improvement would be more than welcome, as would a simple 'liked it' or 'could be better'. Hope you enjoy the story.

_3rd March 2011 - Edit for language, grammar and typos, with apologies to my earlier readers!_

* * *

**Chapter 1**

To Bumblebee's left and right, in the valleys below him and on the hillsides above this winding road, forests were ablaze with the colours of autumn. Dark reds and browns mingled with stands of trees that reflected his own yellow-gold. Mere leaves, simple organic structures designed to support green chloroplasts, shouldn't be capable of producing these mahoganies, scarlets and deep purples. The complex interplay of light and shade assaulted Bumblebee's optics and excited the neural net he was still training to interpret it. Above him, the vault of heaven was a rich, deep azure, the few clouds in the sky merely providing contrast against the glowing blue. The road unfolded under his tyres, its asphalt sparkling as tiny specks of mica reflected every colour of the spectrum.

When Megatron looked at Earth he saw a world rich in resources, ripe for plundering and the target of his undying, unyielding revenge.

When Optimus Prime contemplated the planet he'd opted to defend with his life and those of his people, he saw a young world, dragged into a war not of its own making, its natives rich in potential and striving to find their path.

What Bumblebee saw, more than any of those things, were the colours.

Cybertron was a grey world. The planet on which Bumblebee sparked was one of grey steel and dull black rock. What little colour there had once been, wrung from the barren world by artists and scientists, had long since faded. Eons of war had robbed Autobot and Decepticon alike of all but the most basic aesthetic appreciation. Born of Cybertron's last generation, Bumblebee should hardly even have noticed his surroundings.

Instead, he found himself speeding up, keen to discover what amazing sight lay beyond the next twist in the road or in the next sun-bathed valley. Sighing, he eased back on the gas, his conscience speaking with the twin voices of Sam Witwicky and Optimus Prime. He didn't need either to tell him he was being reckless and a threat to any stray humans taking this quiet mountain road.

Besides, he realised as he settled back into a relaxed cruise, this phenomenon was as transient and fleeting as so many Earthly things. Next time he drove these roads, even after the few short days he'd be spending with Sam, this view would have changed. Perhaps it would be better still, although Bumblebee wasn't sure how that could be possible. Perhaps the change would be for the worse, as the hillsides braced themselves ahead of the approaching winter. Either way, this scene would be gone for good.

This was why he'd turned down turned down Sideswipe's offer of companionship for the journey to visit Sam, and why he'd taken these back roads rather than race his friend down the featureless interstates. Fun as he could be at times, Sides simply wouldn't have understood. Bumblebee owed it to himself to enjoy the sights of this world, or simply of this journey, for as long as he could.

Or as long as he was allowed to.

* * *

The deep, frame-shaking throb of helicopter blades echoed off the hillside, rolling down them in a cascade of sound. It came from nowhere, Grindor closing in fast. Far faster, in fact, than should be possible given his heavy vehicular form. The Sikorsky assault helicopter dwarfed Bumblebee. Even if it had been a human-built machine, it would have been intimidating. As a Decepticon, older, larger and an awful lot stronger than the Autobot Camaro, it was downright terrifying.

Bumblebee was signalling an S-O-S on every frequency available to him, even before a spear-hook thundered out of the sky and pierced his roof-armour. He screamed as he was jerked aloft a brief second later, too dazed by the sudden attack and in too much pain for him to even think of transforming. He felt Prime respond with reassurance and an urgent status query moments before another form flashed past, the shriek of tortured air echoing the Autobot's own cries. For dizzying moments Bumblebee thought Starscream was just buzzing him for the thrill of it. Then the pain in his abused roof structure was washed away by a deeper, more frightening agony.

All Cybertronians could weather a simple human-made electromagnetic pulse without significant impairment. The burst of radiation Starscream focussed on the dangling Autobot from short range was far stronger, harder and more damaging than that. Bumblebee's blue optics faded into darkness, their sensors burnt out in microseconds. Prime's contact fragmented, the text streaming past the young mech's inner screen corrupting and then fading entirely. His radio fried, white-noise reaching a crescendo moments before the circuits melted. His body transformed without his conscious volition, no longer to hold the shape of an alien vehicle against the distraction of so many error messages.

He was barely aware of the moment when Grindor dropped him, of the freefall that must surely presage impact and a final shutdown. He didn't register the fall until Starscream plucked him from mid-air. Claws pierced the young Autobot's chest armour, and he felt himself dragged upwards, caught in a hold that put his back against the Decepticon's chest and Starscream's voice-box just behind his audio sensors.

"Still alive, little Autobot?"

Bumblebee's body was shutting down in agony, the few sensors not fried by the radiation burst drowned out by his internal diagnostics' cascading error reports. His perception of the outside world had shrunk down to the feel of steel claws digging ever closer to his spark chamber and the hissing, discordant voice whispering in his ear.

"It seems Megatron was right for once. Your spark burns brighter than I thought, small one. Perhaps you will serve our purpose after all."

Wind screamed past Bumblebee's sensors. Some small part of him was aware of the air thinning, gravity exerting less of a pull on his straining circuits as the world fell away beneath him. The shriek of displaced air became thin, tinny, before fading out entirely. The chill of space leached what little energy remained to him, his circuits too damaged to trigger his internal heaters or the shift in form that would protect him against this hostile environment.

Locked in a hostile embrace, Bumblebee had no chance to struggle, and no choice but to remain passive. He was hardly aware of being passed from one grip to another. There was certainly nothing he could do to stop the fibre optic cables and tendrils of energy that snaked between the rents in his armour, and through his cold-cracked joints. The violation set off error messages that barely registered on his pain- and cold-deadened mind. It wasn't until the writhing, pulsating conduits made contact with his core data inputs that he realised that his thoughts were no longer his own.

_SOUNDWAVE: The Autobot lives._

_STARSCREAM__: Then hurry with your work! I don't want to be playing babysitter up here all day._

The text streamed past Bumblebee's awareness, a cruel mockery of the longed-for signals from his fellow Autobots. Even channelled through Soundwave's network of connections, Starscream's data-voice was jagged and piercing.

_SOUNDWAVE__: Uploading first virus now. Others will follow._

_STARSCREAM__: I don't like this. Megatron is deluded if he thinks his plan will work. Even if this one has the strength, the others will discover his purpose. _

Purpose? Plan? What little of Bumblebee's awareness remained was troubled by the words.

_SOUNDWAVE__: Optimus Prime has proven a powerful foe. This may be the best way._

_STARSCREAM__: A cowards way! A Decepticon should meet his enemy in open battle._

_SOUNDWAVE__: Where perhaps Prime will do your work for you? Open your path to power?_

Starscream's silence was sullen.

_SOUNDWAVE__: Upload complete. Take him, Starscream, and have a care: Megatron will not thank you if his plan fails through your carelessness. He wants the small Autobot to live._

_STARSCREAM__: He said to make it look convincing. Well, let's see how good their medic really is!_

Connections withdrew, power tendrils undulating as they found their way out through his broken shell. Relief and fear mingled in Bumblebee's confused mind, even as Starscream's callous glee faded from his perception. He might have become a pawn in Megatron's newest game, but Prime had never allowed the least of his soldiers to fall lightly, or unfought. If only he could get back to Optimus and the other Autobots they could reverse what had been done to him… make this whole experience go away…

He just wanted it to go away…

* * *

It might have been seconds, minutes or hours before the heat of re-entry sparked a little more life into Bumblebee's circuits. The hiss of thin air, twisted and torn by their passage, became first a moan and then an anguished howl as they descended ever deeper into Earth's thick atmosphere.

"Still with me, little 'bot?" Starscream was talking again, pouring his poison into Bumblebee's audio sensors. "Ready to play your part in this little drama? Ready for your starring role? 'The Betrayal and Murder of Optimus Prime' – has a ring to it, doesn't it?"

Never! Bumblebee wanted to yell the word, but his vocoder was returning nothing but error messages and his transmitting capabilities had burnt out long before.

"Oh, you'll fight it, Autobot. You'll try to make them understand. You'll try to find help, clinging to that disgustingly naïve hope you all seem to share. But know this: every moment you spend with your oh-so-wonderful Autobot friends is another moment you bring them closer to their deaths, another moment you'll spend wondering just what we've planted inside you… how you'll kill Optimus Prime."

The hissing, sibilant words were like treacle, seeping into Bumblebee's mind and miring his already-sluggish thoughts.

"And you know the best thing, small one? The very best thing? That you know your destiny – and you can't tell them!"

Insane, cackling laughter blended with the shriek of wind as they fell. It cut off, abruptly, Starscream's tone dropping to one of low menace.

"We've made sure of that. Oh yes, Soundwave may be Megatron's lapdog, but he knows his work. Now shall we see whether your medic knows his? And if I'm overestimating him…? Well, Megatron can hardly blame me for your Ratchet's incompetence! Goodbye, little Autobot!"

Steel claws loosened their grasp. Jet engines Bumblebee hadn't even been aware of, controlling and guiding their descent, roared above him for a moment and then faded into the distance. Suddenly Bumblebee was in free-fall, his weight dragging him around so he fell back-first, limbs trailing limply above him, bouncing on the turbulence. He started counting the seconds, lost track somewhere around a hundred. The drop seemed to last forever, stretching on and on until Bumblebee feared that he'd already passed beyond the confines of the world he knew, and was trapped in an eternity where this fall might never end.

He might even have felt relief when he heard the screams of terrified humans below him. He had brief microseconds to analyse the emotion before the terrific force of impact rippled through his body, circuits ruptured and consciousness fled.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two **

"How much longer, Ratchet?" Sam's voice rang with frustration. The human was pacing, the sound of footfalls constantly changing pitch and volume as he approached and then turned away before returning to close the loop.

Bumblebee activated his optics without thinking, still trying to figure out why they'd been powered down, and why he felt such relief to find himself online. A four-day blank in his data logs cried out for explanation, but the view that met his rebooting optics went some way towards providing one: he still had no idea how, but he was pretty sure been damaged.

The ceiling above him was a human design, foam squares mounted behind a glowing fluorescent tube. It had a temporary, thrown-together look familiar from years of experience with the human military, and familiar in its own right. Bumblebee already had a fair idea where he was even before his peripheral vision conclusively identified the equipment of Ratchet's medical bay. And Sam. Servos refocused the young Autobot's eyes, bringing his human friend into clear view without the effort of moving his head.

Sam looked tired, a shadow of stubble shading his chin. He was looking up, away from where Bumblebee lay and towards Ratchet's towering form. The medic leaned over him, crouching a little to rest his hand on the young man's shoulder.

"Could be any time now, Sam."

"And Bee'll really be okay?"

"He'll be stiff and sore for a while, but his spark burns as bright and strong as ever and I've repaired the damage. The Decepticons under-estimated our Bumblebee." Ratchet's voice had been soft. It hardened, becoming angrier as he went on. "If I ever get my hands on the one who did this to him…"

Did what? Bumblebee's mind kicked into action, processing memory files Ratchet must have recovered and which his damaged systems were still working to index.

He flinched. He remembered cold, and pain, and the howl of wind…

"Bumblebee!"

Sam's ecstatic shout jolted the young Autobot out of the memories. He pushed himself up on one arm, suppressing the urge to whimper as the movement proved as painful as Ratchet had promised. He couldn't dampen the sudden smile on the medic's face, or the muddle of joy and relief on his human friend's.

He'd rarely used words with Sam, the habit of non-verbal communication too firmly established between them. His chronically-glitching vocoder was usually more trouble to programme than it was worth, even in the brief intervals when the thing actually worked. He reached out instead, a single finger extended to brush away the tear rolling unheeded down Sam's cheek, and murmured softly in comfort and gratitude when Sam caught that finger in his two hands, holding it tight.

"Bee, you're alive!"

A sigh and quiet tsk from Ratchet suggested that the senior Autobot had reassured Sam on that score more than once. Looked at from a human perspective though, the motionless steel of an unconscious Autobot must appear far from life-like. Bumblebee pushed himself up to sit on the examination table, studying the young human. Sam looked fragile, as if he scarcely dared believe the sight in front of him even now. Bumblebee stroked his friend's face once again, looking up at Ratchet in confusion as he tried to put together what was going on here and why his companion appeared so shaken.

"Welcome back, youngster." Ratchet smiled, but the medic looked tired too, his body language and steady gaze sombre. His data-voice registered on Bumblebee's consciousness, sharing confidences not meant for human ears.

_RATCHET:__ You gave us a real scare this time, Bumblebee. Sam in particular._

Bumblebee's inner senses kicked into life, Ratchet broadcasting his record of a ringing phone and the distraught voice of their human friend. Sam had faced down Megatron, lived through two pitched battles and fought his way back from death itself. Now he sounded on the verge of panic: "Ratchet! Oh God, Ratchet! It's Bee… You've got to come! They… They dropped him, Ratchet. They dropped Bumblebee right on my school! I… God… I think he's dead!"

As a video recording followed the audio, relaying the scene that met Ratchet's optics when he was parachuted, literally, into Sam's college, Bumblebee could see why. His limp body lay in a smoking crater, limbs twisted, torso battered out of shape and almost every circuit shattered or melting. Wisps of vapour twisted and turned as they rose. Thin sunlight glinted off a carpet of glass shards… all that remains of the surrounding quadrangle's shattered windows. Encountering another Autobot in that stay, Bumblebee would hardly have bothered to check for any lingering spark. From the way the movement of the video paused, shaking slightly before closing the gap to the fallen 'bot, it seemed even Ratchet had his doubts.

Bumblebee blinked, the video fading, and the medical bay returning to clear focus. He looked up at Ratchet, grimacing slightly in apology and thanks. The expression wasn't enough. He coughed, checking his vocoder was active before speaking.

"Prlnt diw." He hesitated, shaking his head a little, and tried again. "Bmrnw mwl."

That was odd. He'd very definitely intended to say 'Thank you', both times. That wasn't what his audio sensors registered, or – judging by the confused and worried looks on their faces – what Ratchet and Sam were hearing. Ratchet frowned, crossing his arms across his chest.

"I replaced that vocoder just a few hours back."

Bumblebee shrugged, too accustomed to going without a voice of his own to feel aggrieved or concerned. He searched instead through his library of audio files, warming up his radio as he picked out the appropriate clips.

"Entropy… klampf…"

"Bumblebee?" Sam's expression fell. He swallowed hard, turning back to Ratchet. "What's wrong? Why can't I understand him? What was that? Sounded sort of German."

Ratchet didn't answer the human's anxious questions. He took a step forward, his hand moving to Bumblebee's shoulder. With a gentle pressure, he eased the younger machine back down onto the examination table, his eyes already scanning a series of status displays that surrounded it. "Let me just see what's going on here. I must have missed something."

"You said he'd be all right!" Sam's voice rose rapidly towards a shout. "You promised, Ratchet! Is… is it the fall? Has it affected his mind?"

Bumblebee pushed himself back up to sitting before the medic could object, meeting his friend's eyes and shaking his head vehemently. Ratchet looked almost as relieved as Sam.

"Well, that's something. You understand us, even if we can't understand you, Bumblebee?"

Bee nodded, glad there was at least something he could do to reassure his friends.

"Your audio library still a little scrambled?" Ratchet offered. "Why don't you tap into the base net and update it?"

This time Bumblebee's shrug was far less certain. His self-diagnostics were still complaining on multiple counts, but his basic indexing and data storage system didn't seem to be one of them. He reached out anyway, interfacing with the mainframe Prime had ordered installed on the NEST base. Eyes turned inward, he frowned in surprise when his straightforward query returned nothing but an error message. He reached out again, intending simply to page through the audio files, and was more surprised still when his data request bounced a second time.

He saw Ratchet glance at a monitor and nod in approval, registering the interface but not its response. The obvious extension of that action occurred to both medic and patient at the same moment.

Ratchet sighed. "We've been hanging around humans too long – we're starting to think like them." The tall Autobot fixed unblinking blue optics on his patient as he went on, his data-voice reassuring but firm.

_RATCHET__: We'll get your voice sorted when the rest of you is properly tuned, Bumblebee. Now how many error messages are you getting? I know you're a big strong Autobot, but I can't help you unless I know what's wrong. Even Prime needs a little patch up occasionally – it's nothing to be ashamed of. Just tell me where it hurts, and I'll have you up and out of here in no time._

Bumblebee grinned up at the old medic, seeing through his gruff façade to the soft touch beyond. Troubling as the strange behaviour of the mainframe was, Ratchet would sort it out soon enough. He shrugged.

_BUMBLEBEE__: N!n* f9&W cwr##x._

His smile faded, and he saw Ratchet freeze above him. He tried again, more urgent this time.

BUMBLEBEE: p?;w'c h2-pqlnf? [Sakb3 wde9m ow!

This was wrong, so wrong. Okay, he could believe his vocoder circuits were rusty, and Ratchet's 'scrambled library' theory was as good as any other to explain the radio, but this just shouldn't be happening. His data-coms were an independent system, completely divorced from his vocal subsystems. Cybertronian com streams were hard wired into their consciousness, more like telepathy than speech. If Bumblebee couldn't make himself understood, and, more than that, couldn't understand himself, there was something fundamentally wrong with how his processor was handling language.

BUMBLEBEE: pWLWlnw! W mkcd-0 w;nil kmw!

"It's all right, youngster." Ratchet's hands were busy, flying across the instruments and calling up analysis routines, but his eyes caught Bumblebee's and held them. "I'll work this out. Trust me."

"Ratchet? What is it, what's wrong?" The edge of Sam's fear had dulled, but he still sounded anxious. His hand rested on Bumblebee's arm, comforting and reassuring. "What's wrong with Bee?"

"Don't rush me, boy." Ratchet glanced away for a few seconds to scan his readouts and then his eyes returned to Bumblebee's face, making as much eye contact with the scared youngster as he could. "I'm not entirely certain. If it weren't for the recent physical trauma, I'd have said it was a virus… Bumblebee?"

Bumblebee didn't remember scrambling to his feet. Ratchet's comment had sparked something inside him, the word triggering a restructure of his neural net, and snapping a whole set of experience files into their proper place. He stood, swaying a little, as memories streamed passed his optics and rang in his audio sensors.

_'Uploading first virus'_, Soundwave said. Bumblebee shuddered, Starscream's voice hissing poison into his mind: _'You can't tell them! We've made sure of that!'_

"Bee?"

'_Every moment you spend with Autobot friends is another moment you bring them closer to their deaths, another moment you'll spend wondering just what we've planted inside you.'_

He'd been offline for four days – long enough to spread any virus, surely? Unless… unless there was a trigger of some kind? Maybe whatever he was meant to do needed him awake? What if he'd been planted with something more explosive, something that would only detonate when he was fully online? He shuddered with the sensory memory of the Decepticons piercing his armour and probing his inner workings, his hand running over his chest plates in an unconscious gesture. Maybe the threat was growing more real even as he remembered it.

Shaking his head over and over, Bumblebee backed away from both Sam and Ratchet, not stopping until the examination table hit the back of his legs with a dull clang. He gripped the edge of it, fingers denting the sheet metal, and a low unhappy sound emerged from his vocoder as he tried to control both the memory of fear and its sudden return.

"Bumblebee… What's wrong?" Ratchet must have seen the terror welling up inside his increasingly agitated patient. The medic's voice was deeply concerned. His hand came up, stretching out towards Bumblebee. He looked startled when the young 'bot flinched back, avoiding his touch.

The sound of heavy footfalls shattered the tense tableau.

"Ratchet? Your signal said Bumblebee was awake…"

All three pairs of eyes turned towards the doorway as the reassuring figure of Optimus Prime appeared there. The Autobot leader stepped into the room, Ironhide at his side, Sideswipe and Jolt both peering around the larger 'bots, and all four fixing Bumblebee with looks of undisguised joy and relief.

"Bumblebee. It is good to…" Optimus Prime trailed off, his deep voice puzzled. He'd taken a step towards his warrior, hands extended to take hold of the younger 'bot's shoulders. They dropped slowly away as Bumblebee scrambled backwards, putting the examination table between himself and his friends and looking between them in obvious terror.

_The Betrayal and Murder of Optimus Prime,_ Starscream gloated in his memory. _Every moment…_

"What…?" Sideswipe moved up beside Prime. He rocked to a surprised halt when Bumblebee flinched back, Sam called to him to stop and Ratchet held up a hand in caution. The silver-clad Autobot frowned. "What's going on here? It's like he doesn't recognise us."

This time it was Sam who stepped forward, hands held low and open in front of him. "Bee, you're home now. Safe. What's wrong?"

Bumblebee eyes flicked from the human to his fellow Autobots in a series of rapid movements. A sick feeling was developing amidst the lingering aches and pains. He remembered everything now. His friends had done exactly what Megatron had expected. They'd brought him to one place he could do most harm. The heart of NEST… the only home any of them could claim.

He backed up another few steps. He had no idea what the Decepticons had planned, or whether even the slightest contact with his friends, and Prime above all, could trigger disaster

He had to get out, get away from the people he most cared about.

"Ratchet?" Ironhide asked, uneasy.

Optimus Prime glanced at his hesitating medic and decided not to wait for the explanation. He moved to the head of the table, his voice low and reassuring as he reached out a beckoning hand. "It is a great relief to see you active, Bumblebee."

Bumblebee couldn't risk even the smallest chance of meeting Prime's touch. He ducked, transforming into his more compact vehicular form as he did so. A split second of hesitation – his pain, weariness and longing for his friends' comfort all fighting his overwhelming need to protect them – and then Prime took another tentative step forward.

The movement was too much. Bumblebee bolted.

* * *

Ratchet's medical bay and its associated isolation room were no more than pre-fab structures, partitioning off a small section of the vast NEST hangar. Its walls were temporary, made of plasterboard and designed with convenience and versatility in mind, not physical strength.

They certainly weren't designed to resist the impact of an Autobot Camaro reversing through them with all the acceleration he could muster. Plaster dust and wood chips exploded into the air, forcing the humans in the hangar outside to duck for cover. Bumblebee reversed as fast as he dared, swerving to avoid a squad of NEST troops going through physical training. Through the corner of his eye, he saw other Autobots, resting and socialising in the area they'd designated their 'coffee shop', jerk upright. He caught a glimpse of Major Lennox' startled expression as he pulled off a screaming handbrake turn in the middle of the concrete floor, the rubber of his tyres squealing as they sought purchase. Not stopping for explanations or apologies, he darted out through the hangar's open doors before anyone could so much as think of stopping him.

The sunlight dazzled his newly-repaired optics. Every joint and gear he possessed ached and his engine kept misfiring, one of the cylinders not quite aligned after the major replacement and repair programme Ratchet had carried out. Even flat out, he wasn't close to his usual top speed. He shouldn't be pushing this hard, he knew that. Certainly not without the routine round of fine-tuning that would optimise his systems. The aches and strains were building in every circuit. More than anything he wanted to stop and rest and ask the medic for something to dull the pain in his overstrained hydraulics.

He kept going, his eyes on the distant gate and the airmen scrambling to pull a metal barrier across it. He reckoned he could make it before they had the blockade in place. It didn't matter. He'd crash the gate if he had to. Bumblebee would do anything to protect his friends from the danger he posed them.

If only he could go faster! Possibilities kept tumbling through his mind. Soundwave's mention of viruses kept coming back to him. What if the infection could be passed on through touch, carried on his conductive armour? Or what if there was a bomb even Ratchet couldn't detect, planted under his armour and set to detonate if he came close enough to Optimus Prime? He was sobbing with frustration as Sideswipe pulled into place on his left, the Corvette cruising while Bumblebee was hurting and straining more with every moment.

"Hey, little buddy? It's just me. What's wrong?"

His friend's deep voice was an unwelcome distraction. He swerved away from Sideswipe, almost running into Jolt's path as the blue hatchback came up alongside, sandwiching Bumblebee in.

"Whoa! Watch it, Bee! Look, why don't we slow down a little?"

Bumblebee didn't blame his fellow Autobots for sounding worried. Sideswipe and Jolt must have followed him straight through Ratchet's wall, no time for detailed explanations. The larger, more senior Autobots would have to go around, through the door. They'd take longer to catch up, but Bumblebee could feel his pace slowing, his energon levels dropping low, and he was only half-way across the broad expanse of the NEST base, the gate seeming further away with each passing moment. It was only a matter of time.

He heard rather than saw Ironhide rumble into place behind him, the presence of Prime's lieutenant acting as a whip to drive him onwards. His focus had narrowed entirely to the gate and the three Autobots surrounding him. He was caught by surprise when a huge shape eased in front of them, closing the box on the flagging Camaro.

Suddenly he was racing towards the one person he'd wanted more than any other to avoid, the gap between them closing as Optimus Prime eased back on the gas. Bumblebee stood on his brakes. He heard a startled oath from Ironhide, the big weapons specialist forced to veer off rather than rear-ending the fleeing 'bot, and then Bumblebee accelerated again, swerving out through the gap Ironhide had opened up.

It came as a shock to discover that the four Autobots who'd tried to box him were just part of a much larger contingent. Mudflap and Skids were beside him, his old friend and tutor Wheeljack on his left. The motor-cycle scouts moved fast to head him off, and others – old comrades and newly arrived friends – were flanking him, a few of them hanging back in case of a sudden change of direction. Every 'bot on Base had to be here, accompanied now by a couple of jeeps full of NEST soldiers, Major Lennox in the lead vehicle. Together they formed an encircling ring from which there would be no escape.

Bumblebee slowed, his energon flagging as he realised the gate was unattainable. He shuddered to a halt, his engine ticking over as he turned, backed off and turned again, trying to keep his friends in view as they closed in, like a wounded animal trying to keep the circling predators in sight.

"Bumblebee!" Sam tumbled out of Ratchet's side-door as the rescue 4x4 screamed into place, closing the last gap in the circle. The young man called his friend's name again as he raced across the dusty scrubland. "Bee, calm down. We're not going to hurt you."

Bumblebee locked his doors with a click that echoed across the base. Sam stopped a few yards away, hands spread open in front of him, surprise and hurt showing on his face. Pulling in beside Ratchet, Sideswipe transformed, the warrior watching Bumblebee with an anxious expression.

"Be careful, Sam," he warned, sounding a little sick. "We don't know how much damage those damn 'cons did to his core programmes. Ratchet says his comms are scrambled. His reasoning and identification subroutines could be too."

Bumblebee growled at the folly of the comment, his tired engine throbbing in frustration. The human youth in front of him managed a faint smile at the reaction.

"No. He was fine when he woke up, Sides. He knows who we are." Sam didn't take his eyes off his friend. "You know who I am, right Bee? And Ratchet too?"

Too tired to run any more, at least without trying to explain, Bumblebee let his engine idle, its note dropping. He sounded his horn once, in a short sharp burst, willing his companion to understand. Sam grinned, recalling last year's Halloween television marathon and the evening of light-hearted cultural analysis that followed.

"One beep for yes, two for no, séance-style, right?"

Bumblebee sounded his horn again, revving his engine to emphasise the point.

"Okay, Bee," Sam was still talking in a slow, reassuring voice, but the tense atmosphere had eased a little now Bumblebee was actually showing some sign of rationality, albeit one tinged with fear and frustration. "So you know Prime and the guys too?"

Another blast of the horn.

Ironhide frowned, crossing his arms. "So if Bumblebee knows who we are, why's he so scared of us?" he asked, voice gruff.

Bumblebee spun to face the older 'bot, alarmed by how close his friends now were. He backed up a little, closing the gap between himself and Ratchet because he had no choice but to approach _someone_ and he remembered waking with the medic safely by his side. He beeped twice, sadly, the frustration near overwhelming as his protest was met with confused looks. Not afraid of them, afraid for them.

Transforming with a stiff, awkward movement, Bumblebee gestured to himself and then vehemently towards the gate, looking around the group and ending up facing Prime, a plea in his optics.

Optimus Prime appeared troubled. He stepped forward, rocking to a halt when Bumblebee backed another step towards Ratchet, beeping twice in protest. Bumblebee went through his mime again, indicating himself and the gate. Me… go… Let me go!

"I'm afraid I don't understand, Bumblebee." Prime's voice was the epitome of soothing calm. Bumblebee wanted to relax, to sink into the comforting sound and let Optimus take control. Then he heard Starscream's voice echo in his ears and knew he couldn't. Prime sighed, not approaching any closer but leaning forward. "Is there somewhere you need to be? Someone in trouble? Someone you need to get to urgently?"

He wanted to lie. He couldn't, not to Prime. He shook his head, two beeps sounding again, and he saw the decision in Prime's eyes. The tall Autobot leader shook his head slowly, hesitating as he tried to phrase a rejection of his scout's request.

Bumblebee didn't wait. He folded back into his vehicular form with a low wail of dismay. Backing up a few feet, he realised that he was trying to hide in Sam's shadow, and felt his human friend lay a comforting hand on his bonnet.

"Bee, whatever the problem is, we'll help," the young man promised.

"Have patience, Bumblebee," Prime urged. "I am confident Ratchet will determine the origin of your difficulty and resolve it." The tall Autobot extended a hand, reaching almost to Bumblebee's yellow-armoured fender. "Come back inside…"

Bumblebee sounded his horn, not just twice but three or four times. His wheels spun on the dusty ground, a burst of reverse speed almost sending him into Ratchet's legs before he veered aside. Circling, he turned in a tight arc, Sam in its centre. His wheels spun, nowhere for him to go as he tried to find a gap in the wall of metal around him. Legs, bonnets and bumpers surrounded him, seeming to press in closer as his comrades reacted to his obvious agitation.

"Whoa! Whoa! Back off! Back off, guys! Can't you see you're upsetting him?"

Sam held his arms up, waving the other Autobots off. The young man took a deep breath before stepping directly into the circling Bumblebee's path. His eyes couldn't hide their relief when Bee squealed to a halt, just inches from running into him.

"Bee, listen to me. Why don't we go somewhere and talk? Well, I'll talk and you can tell me when I'm getting warm. Would that be better? Just you and me?"

"Sam, I'm not sure…" Sideswipe's protest went ignored.

"Come on, Bumblebee. Just let me in and Prime and the others will back off, and we can figure things out."

"Prime, you can't let him go off alone," Ironhide rumbled. "If the Decepticons catch him without back-up again…"

Climbing down from his jeep, Lennox seemed to agree. "Look at him, Optimus. He can't steer straight, let alone defend himself!"

Prime appeared thoughtful, his eyes resting briefly on Ratchet before flicking to Sam.

"I understand your fears, Ironhide, Major Lennox."

Sam didn't look away from his Camaro's front windscreen, his hands spread wide open.

"Just pop your door, Bee, and you and me are out of here."

Bumblebee moaned softly, caught between one horror and another. There was no chance of his friends letting him go alone, but how could he accept a companion when he didn't know how much of a threat he posed them? He daren't let the other Autobots close to him, afraid of what booby traps the Decepticons could have hidden inside him. A human though…? Bee hesitated. Humans had never featured large in Decepticon reckoning. Sam hadn't been Starscream's target, not this time. Just possibly his mere touch wouldn't be enough to set off the trap.

Reluctance warred against practicality and the dim hope that Sam was right about Prime letting them go. The Camaro unlocked his doors, the sound ringing loud and clear and echoed by sighs from all around.

Sam smiled a little sadly. "You trust me, right Bee?"

Terrified for his human friend, but still more so for Optimus Prime and his fellow Autobots, Bumblebee swung his door open in invitation. Just get Sam, get out of here, and he could eject his passenger when he was clear... by force if necessary. He hated himself for planning the betrayal, but he had to get away. He'd do anything just to get away from Prime.

"Thanks, Bee." Sam slid into Bumblebee's front seat. Outside, the Autobots were arguing, Ironhide still protesting, with Sideswipe and their human ally to back him up. Prime stood impassive, his eyes on Ratchet, and Ratchet's in turn on Bumblebee and his passenger.

"Sam," the medic said softly.

There was something in that tone Bumblebee didn't like. He turned his awareness inwards, only now sensing Sam's elevated heart rate and seeing the LEDs flashing on the metal box Sam pulled from his pocket.

"I'm sorry, Bee!" There were tears in the young man's eyes as the Camaro's burglar alarm burst into life, Bumblebee's siren crying out his distress. Sam flinched, slamming the device onto the vulnerable underside of his friend's dashboard and pressing a button on its surface before the Autobot could react further. "Ratchet says I have to. For your own good."

Bee wailed, his voice fading as the immobiliser cut in. Consciousness fled. As the world faded, Bumblebee heard his companion choking back sobs and felt a gentle touch on his dashboard.

"I'm sorry, Bumblebee. I'm so sorry."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

There was something inside him.

Bumblebee staggered forward out of the recharge chamber in his quarters, unbalanced as his hands scrabbled at the back of his neck, fingers trying to prize their way beneath the armoured plates.

It was long seconds before he slumped forward, shaking. His hand rubbed his neck plate, metal scraping against metal. He could feel the immobiliser sitting beneath, nestled against his central processor where only a medic or once-trusted human could place it. The alien presence gnawed at him, a betrayal made solid. A parasite, a cancer, lurking inside his cybernetic body.

It wasn't the only one. The memory of Starscream's claws piercing his shell, and, worse than that, Soundwave's tendrils creeping into his innermost workings, sent shudders through him.

He couldn't let his new electronic leash stop him doing what he must. One thing had been foremost on his processor when consciousness faded, and was the first objective it identified as he came back online. He had to get out of NEST. Whatever the Decepticons had planted inside him, whatever the threat to Prime, he had to get away before it could be brought into action.

He transformed without thinking, his engine revving as he plotted his escape. He reached out to the mainframe, trying to check the patrol patterns, and wailed quietly to himself as he realised his comms were still corrupted, the search parameters he transmitted only yielding error messages and bouncing him back to the top level of the interface.

"Bumblebee?"

The voice startled him. He backed off, almost ramming his own recharge chamber as he realised he wasn't alone. A quick glance had told him he was in his quarters. He hadn't scanned any further than that, or noticed the Autobot sitting in the chair just inside the doorway. Ratchet had remained still, giving him time to regain his bearings. Now he leaned forward, optics brightening as they scanned his suddenly defensive patient.

Bumblebee transformed back into his bipedal mode, his hand going to the back of his neck, his optics filled with pain and accusation as he pressed himself tightly into the furthest corner of the room.

Ratchet's expression faltered and then hardened. He shook his head, eyes grave.

"I'm not going to apologise for keeping you alive, Bumblebee," the old medic rumbled. "You're scared. I can see that, although Primus only knows why, but running away isn't the answer. If we let you go, half-healed and with no way to call for help, you'd be a heap of twisted metal within hours. You know that. I know you know that. So you know why Sam and I had to do what we did."

Anger rippling through him, Bumblebee couldn't agree. His internal clock registered another half-day lost, another twelve hours when Prime and the other Autobots had been exposed to a threat they didn't comprehend. He could, with the small part of himself still thinking rationally, understand his friends' motives. That didn't mean he could forgive them. Sam had turned on him when he most needed a friend, betraying the Camaro's hard-won trust. Even if he hadn't done the deed himself, Ratchet had incited that betrayal. He'd turned a medical device into a shackle. The immobiliser was a choke-chain, a collar to ensure Bumblebee's obedience.

The medic stood, poised on the balls of his feet as if he intended to come forward. Bumblebee couldn't have pressed any further back if he tried. He tried anyway, beeping out a 'no' and shaking his head urgently. His hands came up in front of him, palms open and angled outwards, urging his friend to stay back.

Ratchet stopped, his expression confused.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Bumblebee."

Yes. The simple agreement was a frustratingly inadequate reply. He willed Ratchet to understand – to ask the opposite question: would Bumblebee hurt him? He didn't. Ratchet shook his head, baffled when his repeated attempt to approach was met with the same desperate warning. This time the taller Autobot was the one to back up, hands spread in front of him in a vain attempt to reassure.

"Bumblebee, I want you to listen to me. You're infected with a virus, yes, but you're not infectious. It's scrambling your processor outputs, that's all. Wheeljack and I have been over every circuit, every damn component, in your body. We know you're rational. We know your memories are intact. And if you know where you are, you know that you're safe here."

He didn't understand. He couldn't. For a moment, Ratchet's words had given Bumblebee a flicker of hope. Wheeljack was the finest engineer and mechanic Bumblebee had ever known. Ratchet's medical skills were the envy of Autobot and Decepticon alike. There was a little chance that either would have missed an overt threat – a bomb planted under his torn armour – let alone both.

But Starscream's vivid threats rang in Bumblebee's ears nonetheless. He couldn't still his shivers, rubbing again at his neck and the tangible intrusion that only echoed the evil planted within him. Ratchet said he wasn't infectious, but if the threat to Prime's life wasn't explosive, it had to be something more insidious. A virus, or more than one – the 'others' Soundwave had mentioned. Something that would corrupt his friends, freeze their limbs and douse their sparks forever.

His fear ran almost as deep when he thought of all the ways a virus could affect his own body. Losing his speech was nothing. A well-written malicious code, inserted directly into his neural net, could send him into final shutdown in a microsecond. Worse, it could cause a catastrophic failure, detonating his spark chamber and the mechanisms that formed his body. The blast from an Autobot Bumblebee's size wouldn't take out the NEST base, but if the virus was tied in to Prime's presence… Bumblebee wrapped his arms around himself, trembling as he realised that for the rest of his life he'd never be able to come close to the one Autobot he'd idolised since he was a mere sparkling.

He couldn't know when it would strike, or who, or even what the trigger might be. He daren't let anyone close.

Beeping a 'no' that left Ratchet more confused than ever, Bumblebee pointed at his friend and then at the door, the gesture unmistakeable and emphatic.

"You want me to go?" Ratchet frowned, nonplussed when his patient nodded and repeated the gesture. He stepped back with obvious reluctance, his eyes running up and down the 'bot pressed into the room's far corner. "All right. You're obviously back online and moving well, and that's what I wanted to see." Ratchet fixed him with a hard look. "Any pain?"

A little, but in the form of dull, healing aches, rather than acute distress. Bumblebee shook his head.

"Any disturbance in your optical sensors? Stray audio pick up? Motion sensor feedback?"

This time Bumblebee's negative was less patient. He gestured again to the door.

The old medic sighed. "Fine. If that's what you want, you know where to find me."

He took a step backwards, shaking his head as he paused in the doorway.

"But Bumblebee, I'm sorry. You're confined to Base – Prime's orders. You understand?"

Bumblebee nodded, his optics dimming as his heart fell. He locked the door behind Ratchet, the words running through his head, his determination not to risk his friends warring against a lifetime of training. Prime's orders. He'd never disobeyed them.

Until now.

* * *

"Bee?"

Sam Witwicky pounded on the door with clenched fists, his voice hoarse from repeated shouts.

"Bumblebee! You've got to let me in. You've got to let me explain!"

There was no explanation that would change what Sam had done. Bumblebee paced the confines of his small chamber, trying to figure out an escape that seemed impossible. The isolation of his quarters was a first step, but more than anything he needed to be out of NEST before he stumbled across the trigger to whatever seed Starscream had planted within him. His mind turned in circles as it had for five long hours, trying to work it out: It would be something normal. Something easily done. Perhaps something as simple as his victim's presence.

"Look, I know you hate me right now. If it was me, I'd probably not want you within a hundred miles of me. I understand, right? But you were going to get yourself hurt! Killed even! I couldn't stand by and watch that, Bee! You're being unfair!"

It was five hours since he'd awakened – hours he'd spent pacing or just sitting and staring at the wall while he thought. He didn't dare stay, and, with every sound of that treacherous voice, he resented the knowledge that without Samuel James Witwicky he might have been free and far from here already.

"Bee, I'm sorry, okay! I'm sorry!"

It wasn't enough, not nearly enough, not for this magnitude of betrayal. Not with Prime's life and perhaps even Sam's own at stake. Without the Autobots to protect him, both by their constant discreet surveillance and their standing promise of implacable revenge, Sam's life expectancy in the world outside wouldn't be much better than Bumblebee's. Whatever Starscream and Soundwave's plan, Sam was better off as far as possible from his former guardian.

Bumblebee had all the reason in the world not to let Sam back into his life. He dialled down the input on his audio sensors and tried to silence the internal voice that longed to take him back regardless.

* * *

_PRIME__: May I enter?_

It wasn't the first data-voice that had intruded across Bumblebee's inner screen over the last eight hours, but of them all, this was the hardest to ignore.

_PRIME:__ Ratchet informs me that you are reluctant to allow others to approach you. I assure you that I mean no harm._

Bumblebee could never have thought otherwise, but that didn't relieve the tension he felt. He could hear movement beyond the door of his quarters and backed off with a moan, pressing himself against the opposite wall as if he could sink into it. Being on the same base as Prime was too close. Being in his physical presence was practically inviting Soundwave's virus to do its worst.

He felt the scan as a tingle in his circuits, his internal diagnostics registering it and tagging it with an Autobot signature. Prime remained silent for long minutes, no doubt pondering the sight of his warrior retreating from him, despite the solid wall and locked door between them.

_PRIME__: I will not force you to leave your chamber, Bumblebee, but I urge you to do so. This base is encircled with all the protection we can provide – I promise you that. _

There was no answer to that. Optimus Prime had no way of knowing that the threat was already inside – planted in the very Autobot he was trying to reach out to. Bumblebee sank down against the wall, hands resting in his lap and head leaning back against the wall as he willed the Autobot he'd always admired and come close to worshiping to leave. He felt a repeated scan, Prime growing concerned by his silence. The larger mech sighed.

_PRIME__: Very well. But I will make a request on behalf of another: the human boy Sam Witwicky is greatly concerned by your refusal to speak to him. Can I ask that you reconsider - "_

No! The double-blast from Bumblebee's horn was loud enough to penetrate the door and stop Prime's data-voice mid-sentence. Alone in his dimly lit room, Bumblebee shook his head.

_PRIME__: Sam is not to blame for your current situation._

That was a matter of opinion. Even insofar as it was true, it didn't change Bumblebee's decision regarding his closest companion. Prime hesitated before continuing.

_PRIME: Please, Bumblebee. Sam believes that your friendship is at an end. That you wish him to leave NEST headquarters and return to his college studies._

This time it was Bumblebee who hesitated, his expression sad. He dropped his face into his hands, his single beep of agreement muted. Prime must have heard it, nonetheless. The presence outside the door remained still for a while, perhaps in shock, perhaps in disappointment, and then Optimus Prime walked away, leaving his warrior to brooding thoughts.

* * *

The plywood-and-plaster wall had precisely one hundred and nineteen points where it deviated from a level plane by more than three hundred microns. Its spectral analysis suggested that five different pigments had been combined to create the shade known to the humans of NEST as 'apricot white': three of them derived from minerals, two were organic, all mired in a polymer substrate that both bound the pigments in an even layer and gave them a matt finish.

Without access to the mainframe, without anything else in the near-empty room to distract him from his fears and anxiety over the last eighteen hours, Bumblebee had more than enough time to study it.

Movement outside his door. A knock.

Bumblebee stood, moving quickly to check that the lock was still in place and then backing off.

_SIDESWIPE__: Hey, little buddy! _

The Autobot warrior sounded more nervous than Bumblebee had ever heard him, the jollity in his data-voice forced.

_SIDESWIPE__: You going to make me talk through the door, Bee?_

There was no point answering aloud. He'd not opened the door to Prime or Wheeljack, to Ironhide or Jolt, or to the twins Mudflap and Skids. Ratchet hadn't needed his consent, overriding the lock for long enough to peer around the doorframe and tell Bumblebee he was being an idiot just a couple of hours before. None of those frustrating interruptions had brought the same excitement that Bumblebee felt on hearing his silver friend. He turned towards the door, focussing a perception that went beyond the purely visual.

_SIDESWIPE__: Whoa! You need a scan to be sure it's me? Ol' Hatchet says you're definitely you, Bumblebee, but I've gotta say, that seems a little paranoid. _

Sideswipe fell silent, possibly guilty for putting words to the concern all Bumblebee's friends shared. He rallied, the strained humour returning.

_SIDESWIPE__: Anyway, I'm just gonna grab a coffee. Want to come along?_

His data-voice made it pretty clear he didn't expect an answer. Bumblebee didn't see any reason to defy his expectations, and had a lot more reason to meet them than his friend could possibly understand. Sideswipe left the question hanging for a long minute and then sighed. The door rattled as he leaned against it.

_SIDESWIPE__: Bee? I'm sorry, okay? I should've come along with you to see Sam. Should've insisted. Damn 'cons!_

A thud and another rattle suggested that Bumblebee's door might need a little repair work of its own.

_SIDESWIPE__: But you're back at base now. Safe. Bee… you can't stay in there forever, you know that, right?_

Still processing his detailed scan, Bumblebee leaned back against his wall, wanting to reassure his friend and not having the words. Guilt gnawed at him, just as it was obviously eating at Sideswipe.

_SIDESWIPE__: Right. Well… guess I'll be going. Later, okay, Bumblebee?_

_

* * *

_

There weren't many of his fellow Autobots that Bumblebee could successfully cross-scan. A few, like the young twins, were simply too small, Bumblebee unable to fold his mass down into so compact an alt-form. Others, like Ratchet and Ironhide, not to mention Prime himself, presented the reverse problem. Duplicating their alt-forms would stretch his armour so thin as to be useless, while their tall profiles would move his centre of mass so high his body became unstable and almost impossible to control.

He'd been waiting for Sideswipe to stop by all day. As the evening had worn on and the base quieted down, he'd begun to despair of his friend's visit, even as he felt guilty for wanting it. Now though, deep into the night, he rolled backwards and forwards, testing the feel of his new wheels and trying to get a sense for how the shell of a Corvette Stingray was meant to handle.

The base was silent as he crept through it. The humans of NEST were asleep, all but a skeleton night-shift on duty in the main hangar. Bumblebee's fellow Autobots would be there too. Those not on patrol or undergoing an active recharge cycle in their quarters would spend the night parked up while reviewing human entertainments from the mainframe, or perhaps be talking quietly in the social area they'd designated their 'coffee shop'.

Bumblebee bypassed the hangar entirely, slipping past Wheeljack's workshop as quietly as he could, and easing out through the delivery bay that served it.

His tentative movements were replaced by an entirely false confidence as he moved out into the open air, his new silver shell reflecting the moonlight. A fellow Autobot would have registered the higher note of his low-capacity engine and the way Bumblebee's over-stretched body bounced on his wheels. The human soldiers manning the gate only saw Sideswipe rolling towards them with his usual easy confidence. Accustomed as they were to their allies' unusual patrol patterns and occasional explorations, it didn't even occur to them to stop him.

There was satisfaction but no pleasure in Bumblebee's circuits as he drove out of NEST, forcing all the speed he could out of his aching body. This was wrong, on so many different levels. Sneaking out of a base he was starting to think of as home. Stealing another 'bots chosen alt-mode. Deceiving their human friends. And most of all, defying Prime's orders, and the trust the senior Autobots had placed in them.

Only his higher duty – to protect his comrades, their friends and his Prime – drove him on, giving him the strength he needed. He turned off the long approach road with a sigh of relief, merging into the thin stream of traffic that filled the interstate, even at this hour. If the weary humans, driving blank-faced and blank-eyed as their circadian rhythms lagged, noticed the flicker of light that connected the Corvette to a passing hatchback, they didn't register it. The one man who noticed the Corvette itself shimmer a minute or so further down the road, seeming to change shape in front of his eyes, put it down to his own sleepiness and pulled aside at the next rest-stop for a strong coffee and a few minutes of respite.

Twenty minutes later the hatchback shimmered again. Twenty minutes after that, a non-descript family saloon entered a tunnel and didn't emerge. Instead a five-year-old blue-black convertible joined the trickle of late-night traffic milling around the edge-of-town strip-malls and nightclubs.

Even here, the roads was starting to empty. The cover Bumblebee had hoped to find amidst the city traffic evaporated as pre-dawn light spread from the eastern horizon. The night people were heading home, seeking their beds. The early-risers were only now stirring, yet to pour onto the roads.

Neon signs fell dark, the buildings Bumblebee passed losing their dark-shrouded sense of excitement, shown up for the run down warehouses they were by the morning light. Disenchanted and demoralised, he parked in the back of a used-car lot, stealing an hour or so to rest before the human salespeople were likely to arrive.

* * *

The first of many pings from Ratchet came just as the dawn sunlight began to play across Bumblebee's unfamiliar shell. The first from Optimus Prime registered a mere ten seconds later. Bumblebee had been dozing, wearied by his journey and efforts to throw off any pursuer. He had to swallow back his instinctive reply as his engine coughed into life and he pulled out of the lot. Even a corrupted, nonsensical response would have been enough for his friends to locate him. They heard only silence.

He drifted aimlessly, circling closer to the centre of town and losing himself for a while in the anonymity of the rush-hour tailbacks. It was the sense of other vehicles packed tight around him that brought the reality of his situation home. He had no idea what he was doing, or where he could possibly go. His focus had been so tightly focussed on escaping NEST and putting distance between the threat he presented and his Autobot friends that he hadn't thought beyond that goal. He certainly hadn't stopped to think whether he might also present a threat to the human civilians around him.

Now he realised he couldn't rule it out.

If his spark chamber was primed to detonate on command, if he was loaded with a virus that could disrupt electronics and corrupt computers, did he dare linger anywhere, let alone in the heart of a technology-dependent city?

He broke free of the city centre jams as quickly as he could, fighting his way out to the quieter suburbs. Even here, the density of electronic noise would go some way to masking his signature, making it difficult for friend and foe alike to locate him. Forced out into the radio-quiet countryside, he might as well broadcast a signal saying 'here – come and get me' and sit back to wait.

Or he could just be an idiot and get it over with sooner still.

Bumblebee didn't realise he'd wandered onto familiar roads until it was far too late. His weary thoughts chasing themselves in circles, he didn't notice his tyres making their own decisions, taking him along a habitual path and towards the only other place on Earth he came close to considering a home.

The Witwicky house stood in a quiet road, in a quiet suburb. Bumblebee stared at it, nonplussed to find himself there and wondering for a wild moment whether Sam's long-suffering parents would mind if he crawled into his familiar garage and just rested for a while. It wasn't an option. Even assuming Ron and Judy would let an unfamiliar vehicle park itself on their property, on the off-chance that they wouldn't call NEST straight away, his presence here was going to attract far less welcome attention.

He pulled a U-turn, exhausted but resigned to moving on, and froze.

The vehicle that stood in the centre of the road behind him, straddling both lanes, did a good impression of a genuine police cruiser. It would take a sharp pair of human eyes to pick out the promise 'to punish and enslave' emblazoned on Barricade's flanks, and Cybertronian optics to see the shimmer of energy that characterised a Decepticon.

Bumblebee backed up, automatically scanning the houses around him for humans. They were past the rush hour now, most of the local residents already at work or school. Even so, Bumblebee picked up the occasional signature, his spark throbbing as he realised Judy Witwicky was still in her house.

He couldn't fight here. Weary as he was, his recent recharge exhausted by his many alt-shifts and the ongoing optimisation efforts of his self-repair systems, he didn't want to fight at all. He didn't think Barricade was going to give him the choice.

_BARRICADE__: Well, well. Didn't expect to see you here, Insect._

Bumblebee remained silent and still, his eyes on the equally motionless Decepticon.

_BARRICADE__: Nothing to say? Oh, no. Soundwave saw to that, didn't he?_

The data-voice was thick with gloating amusement.

_BARRICADE__: Have you done it yet, Insect? Have you brought your friends to their ruin? Do you even know? But, no... You're running, aren't you? You think you can escape the fate Lord Megatron decrees for you._

"Well, doesn't that just take the biscuit?"

The human voice was an unwelcome distraction. Standing on her porch, car keys in hand and ready to go, Judy Witwicky stared in surprise at the two vehicles, both apparently parked and driverless in the centre of her road. She shook her head, scooping up the Chihuahua that yelped and snapped at her heels.

"You just look at that, Mojo! A nice car like that, and a police car too! Just dumped there. I'll tell you, some people just have no consideration at all!"

_BARRICADE__: The boy's female progenitor! Megatron has ruled that she lives, little Autobot, for now. But that doesn't mean I can't have my fun._

If he'd had a voice, Bumblebee would have shouted for his best friend's mother to run. Instead, he did the only thing he could think of, mustering his strength for one last alt-shift and shimmering back into his habitual form. Judy Witwicky took one look at the yellow Camaro, glanced at the police car he was backing off, turned and ran.

Bumblebee was already accelerating as a compact launcher dropped down from the side of police vehicle, its missile aimed and fired in a hurry before the Autobot rammed its owner. Bumblebee was distantly aware of a fire hydrant exploding behind him, water pressure blasting the remains high into the sky and creating a geyser almost forty foot tall. He was far more conscious of the pain as his front wing crumpled, and of Barricade's laughter as he bounced away, shoved backwards by the police cruiser's greater horsepower.

_BARRICADE__: So brave, Insect. So worthy. So pointless._

Shaken, Bumblebee could do nothing to prevent Barricade lining up a second shot. He expected the Decepticon to target the porch, or maybe take out Judy Witwicky's witless car. He was surprised when Barricade's missile hit the road's pavement instead. A moment later, his brief speculation that the 'con might have suffered a misfire was dismissed. A wave of heat washed across them, scorching the paint on Bumblebee's left flank. The ruptured gas main sent a ball of fire rolling into the air high above, the concussion shaking windows and rocking the ground beneath their wheels.

Barricade rumbled with satisfaction, and Bumblebee blinked at him, surprised by so pointless a target. That's when he realised that he'd mistaken his opponent's intent all along.

No! He hit reverse, dimly aware of a wobble in his front axle where he'd bent it against Barricade's bumper. He put ten, fifteen metres between them before stopping, trying to find options where there were none.

The fire hydrant, the gas main – they weren't miss-hits or random targets. They were deliberate beacons: signals intended for a very particular audience.

They heard a powerful engine a moment before the silver Corvette that owned it came into sight. Barricade laughed, low and vicious. He reloaded his missile launcher, aiming it at Bumblebee in what the Camaro now knew to be an empty threat. Skidding into view, speeding through the quiet residential zone without a qualm, Sideswipe took one look at the situation and rammed Barricade at full speed, both mechs transforming as he did so.

"Bee! Run!"

Bumblebee hesitated. He'd resisted physical contact with other Autobots for this long. He wasn't sure whether he dared dive in to help or whether he'd do any good if he did. Tired and weak as he felt, he was sure of one thing: he didn't want to leave Sideswipe to fight alone. He revved his engine, catching a glimpse of his friend's face as the tall warrior blocked Barricade with his body.

"Prime's coming! I'll be fine. Get clear, Bumblebee! Now!"

Barricade was only fighting for appearance sake, his true intention to drive Bumblebee back into the arms of his friends. If Prime was coming, he'd disengage. If Prime was coming, Bumblebee couldn't stay.

Hating himself for doing so, Bumblebee put in a burst of speed, edging past the tussle with two wheels on a previously-immaculate lawn. He didn't have the energon for another alt-shift. He put all his effort into getting power down instead, coaxing as much speed out of he could out of his familiar form, and flying through the streets in search of a hiding place.

* * *

Autobot and Decepticon signatures registered on the edge of Bumblebee's sensors in a distant buzz, none close enough for him to identify, or for them to identify him. No-one entered the dilapidated warehouse in which he'd taken cover, too busy with their own skirmishes and diversions. Despite that, Starscream had flown overhead twice, buzzing the place, and once a terrified Bumblebee had heard Grinder pass overhead too, the Decepticon's rotors throbbing deep and low as they cut the air.

It was an hour or more before he felt other Cybertronians gathering nearby, in sufficient numbers for him to be sure they were Autobots. He wasn't surprised when Ratchet and Wheeljack edged into the run-down building a few minutes later. He tried to protest anyway, backing deeper into the shadows with a faint moan of dismay.

Wheeljack looked concerned, scanning Bumblebee's crumpled fender, bent axel and blistered paint. Given time and energon all would heal, but Bumblebee was short of both, the human power line he was tapping a poor substitute for a Cybertronian recharge booth. The engineer and inventor, Bumblebee's tutor as a sparkling and friend ever since, shook his head, apparently lost for words.

Ratchet subjected him to a quick and thorough scan too, but the medic's expression was more angry than concerned.

"I've had your processors under my analysers twice already in the last few days, youngster, so I'm pretty certain your reasoning subcircuits haven't melted. Else I'd be having my doubts." He folded his arms. "You almost got yourself killed – not to mention Sideswipe and Sam's mother."

The blunt words sent a chill through Bumblebee. He edged forward, revving his engine slightly as he tried to make his question understood.

"They're fine. Both of them," Wheeljack provided. "Bee, what's going on here? Defying Prime's orders like that! It's not as if you even knew where you were going!"

He strode forward as he spoke, hesitating when Bumblebee reversed until his rear bumper was hard against the wall. Looking grim, the engineer spread his hands.

"Don't be ridiculous, Bee!" he snapped, coming on and not rocking to a halt until the younger bot's initial double-beep of protest crescendoed into a torrent of flashing lights, horn blasts and burglar alarms. His expression creased into one of pure confusion. "I'm not going to hurt you!"

Bee felt lubricant gathering around his headlamps. He wanted to weep with frustration. People kept telling him that. Not one of them had stopped to consider whether the root of his fears might lie somewhere else entirely.

Ratchet and Wheeljack exchanged troubled looks. The medic dropped down to crouch, looking the Camaro optic-to-headlight. "Bumblebee, we can't leave you out here. The Decepticons know you're still active now and pretty much where to find you too – how long do you think it's going to be before they finish the job they started?" Ratchet rocked back on his heels, staring at his silent patient. "You're coming back to NEST."

There was no point in arguing. Ratchet hadn't mentioned the immobiliser, but Bumblebee could feel it still, a knot of wrongness lurking under his dash. At this range, Ratchet could knock him out with little more than a thought, and then he'd be dragged back to NEST insensible, the situation completely out of his control. If he was going to suffer the shame of returning to his prison, he might as well be rolling on his own wheels.

He beeped out a subdued 'yes', his lights dim and his frame low on its wheels.

The relief that greeted his agreement surprised him. He realised that his friends had expected him to refuse, their doubts about his rationality evidently growing. Wheeljack sighed, transforming into his vehicular mode and backing up to give the Camaro more room.

"It's for the best, Bee. We just want to help."

Help would be curing the virus blocking Bumblebee's comms. Help would be giving him the chance to explain and isolate himself before the Decepticons' vague threat became a more tangible danger. It was ironic that if it hadn't been for Bee's attempt escape, the two older Autobots would almost certainly be working on the first of those problems already.

Tired, sore and demoralised, Bumblebee rolled forward a little to show willing before waiting, not prepared to move on unless both his friends were ahead where he could see them. It took Wheeljack and Ratchet a few seconds to work that out, the two of them exchanging another worried look before they complied with the younger 'bot's unspoken request.

Bumblebee rolled out behind them, his optics barely rising from the ground, and his only real focus on maintaining the five-metre gap between himself and Wheeljack's rear bumper.

The bright afternoon sunshine was harsh on his weary senses. He looked up, blinking to recalibrate his optics, and only then realised he had an audience. The human soldiers, formed up in a couple of vehicles to his left, were of little concern to him. Sideswipe, on his right, got a worried inspection that confirmed Wheeljack's earlier reassurance, and the other Autobots a quick range check to ensure none of them came too close. It wasn't until he saw Optimus Prime striding forward that Bumblebee slammed on his brakes, shifting gears and reversing not just into the warehouse but through it, in a burst of speed that seemed to catch everyone by surprise.

Return to NEST was inevitable; contact with Prime was to be avoided at all costs.

He blinked again as he emerged into daylight for the second time, bumping down over the loading dock on the opposite side of the building. He hadn't got as far as wondering where he was going and how he proposed to escape the assembled forces. It wasn't until his tires met cruel metal stingers and became entangled in a wire chain net, until human soldiers approached with hoses that sprayed freezing gas over his joints, that it occurred to him the building might be surrounded.

He writhed and twisted as best he could, too tired to transform as his tyres fought for purchase amidst the slippery cables and the cold began to shut down his peripheral sensors. He knew he was blasting out a garbled distress signal, too panicked not to. He'd been at the humans' mercy once before and ended up frozen immobile, slung from the bottom of a helicopter in a net just like this one. That memory brought back another: the last time Bumblebee had been lifted from the ground, dragged into the freezing depths of space. He heard himself screaming, his horn and burglar alarm both wailing at full volume.

"By all the Primes, Lennox!"

"You'd rather he was loose, Optimus? Gone rogue? Getting himself and others hurt? I can't allow that! Look, can't you knock him out? At least till we're back at Base?"

"This wasn't necessary!"

"No one would have been happier than me if he'd rolled out the front way with the rest of you. But he didn't. He was running!" Lennox didn't cover his hands with his ears but he did wince, jaw tight with tension. "God, Ratchet! Listen to him! You can't let him suffer like that."

The human's words and Ratchet's vehement curse meant nothing to Bumblebee's panicked mind. Nothing registered but the pulse that spread from the immobiliser, bringing peaceful oblivion in its wake.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Bumblebee sat, still and silent, on the Autobot-sized chair in his quarters. His eyes rested on the metal cubicle of his recharge chamber, his thoughts chasing themselves in ever-darker circles.

It was five days since he woke in that chamber for the second time, and listened to an exhausted Ratchet repeat his instructions not to leave NEST. He'd turned his back on the senior Autobot, knowing he wouldn't be given the chance to try.

It was four days since he'd ventured out of his quarters to find Wheeljack waiting in the hangar, no doubt alerted the moment Bee set foot outside. Less than an hour of dodging other Autobots – backing off and sounding warnings to his worried friends until he was virtually trapped in the corner of the hangar – had been enough to send the young Autobot straight back to his own room.

The conversation he'd overheard on his second expedition, later the same night, had just strengthened his desire for isolation. Hoping for nothing more than a break from the monotony of his quarters while the base was quiet, he'd fully expected to be intercepted by Wheeljack, or maybe Ratchet, at the hangar. He'd not even made it that far when he heard a couple of human guards talking just outside the accommodation block.

"Man, I'll never get used to this. These 'bots just freak me out." The man was newly assigned, still on the steep learning curve that all humans experienced after their first Autobot encounter. Even so, that didn't excuse him. "The one that went nuts – they've got him locked up right?"

"Bumblebee." The second man had been more familiar – an old hand at NEST. He seemed less sanguine, regret and uneasiness in his tone. "Yeah, I think so."

"Bumblebee? What a name! Still, I guess that makes it an easy enough problem to solve. We just need to get the 'bots a damn great bottle of bug spray."

The new soldier had laughed heartily at his own weak joke, his companion joining in dutifully while Bumblebee's spark dimmed with shame. He'd been leaning against the wall just inside the door to the accommodation block, debating whether to just turn and head back to his room, when a new voice startled him.

"Recruit! Your name?" A thud of feet and both guards snapped to attention.

"Sir! Murphy, sir."

"You're new here, right, Murphy? Trained with the fifty-sixth?" There was a deceptively light note to Major Lennox' questions, one that Bumblebee had long since learned to respect. As he went on, the major's tone dropped, becoming steadily lower and harsher. "Your unit's not seen serious action yet, so I'm going to cut you a little slack here.

"You've not been under fire, had your ears ring so loud you're sure your eardrums are bursting, and felt the dirt and blood and shrapnel rain down around you. You've not woken screaming from nightmares where you're facing the friends you lost and almost wish you'd gone with them.

"You've never seen a comrade invalided out with PTSD. Seen them stop sleeping, stop talking, stop eating, until finally they can't stand it any more and all they want is to eat a bullet and stop breathing too."

There had been something compelling about the passion in Lennox's voice. Bumblebee had edged forward and peered around the doorframe, startled to realise the usually affable officer was backing his man against the wall, becoming gradually more forceful as he emphasised each point with a shove against the soldier's shoulder.

"You're new to my command, so I'm going to tell you once and only once, recruit: You _don't_ joke about a wounded soldier. You _don't_ laugh. You _don't_ mock. Not on this planet or any other. Not now. Not _ever_!"

The new recruit had looked shaken, but not as much so as Bumblebee. The depth of anxiety behind Lennox' outburst had been obvious to anyone who'd known him as long as the Autobot scout. He'd already been backing around the doorframe, retreating towards his quarters, when Ratchet skidded to a halt a few metres away.

"Major! Has Bumblebee come out this way?"

Lennox had turned to face the medic with evident surprise. The recruit, Murphy, clearly wanted to look just about anywhere else. He swallowed hard, gaze slipping past his commander and meeting Bumblebee's blue optics in the darkness.

"Uh, sir?"

Bumblebee hadn't waited for the explanations or even apologies. He turned and headed to his assigned room with all the speed he could muster.

He hadn't left it since. Sam had already gone, returning reluctantly to his college and neglected studies in the face of Bumblebee's rejection. Over five long days, he'd spread that rejection as wide as he could, refusing entry on an hourly basis to everyone from Prime to Mudflap and Skids.

Now though Bumblebee's body was aching. His energon supplies were low, exhausted by the fine-tuning efforts of his self-repair systems despite his near-total lack of activity. He needed to recharge, and, quite simply, he couldn't risk it. He couldn't risk Optimus or any of the others approaching while he stood unawares in the compact metal box. So far, his friends had respected his self-isolation, only Wheeljack and Ratchet over-riding his door-lock from time to time and standing in the threshold, asking questions Bumblebee couldn't answer as they tried to understand. That tolerance wouldn't last forever.

Raising a hand, he rubbed the back of his neck, thick metal fingers trying to prise their way beneath his armoured neck plates. He could feel the immobiliser there, its compact box mere inches from his central processor. It was inactive, his present awareness demonstrated that, but its mere presence was a violation, grating against his self-diagnostics. It was all the reminder he needed that his friends would do what they thought best for him, regardless of his warnings.

He'd been marking his time, clinging to isolation because he told himself he had no other option. Even without Ratchet's warning he'd have known the other Autobots wouldn't just let him go.

Prime had tried to explain the dangers, transmitting a data stream through the closed door. Sideswipe had told him not to be a fool, apologising over and again for letting Bumblebee travel alone in the first place, when he wasn't berating him for trying to run. Wheeljack had gone through the damage Bee had sustained over the last week, his clinical recitation of the initial near-fatal injuries making the younger 'bot cover his ears in a plea for no more. Ratchet had just looked at him, arms folded. All of them seemed troubled by Bumblebee's desire to leave, pointing out that it was nothing more than a path to self-destruction by Decepticon.

Bumblebee knew it. The knowledge bounced around and between his processors as he stared at the idling recharge chamber.

The only real question had to be whether it was worth it. Every sight of Prime, or whisper of his rich voice, made Bumblebee shudder and withdraw still deeper into himself. His imagination plagued him with scenarios, futures in which he passed on an infection to his leader, or to any of the others. It was all too easy to picture a plague dimming the sparks of his friends, sapping their strength and leaving them vulnerable to the merciless Decepticons. All to easy to imagine the light fading from Optimus Prime's optics.

No Autobot would throw their life away, but eons of war had burnt away any illusions about the price of freedom. He'd seen warriors fall in battle. He'd seen Jazz torn apart between Megatron's huge claws. He'd seen humans killed with the swipe of a careless Decepticon hand, starships destroyed and cities flattened, the last of his fellow sparklings engulfed by flames. He'd known almost since he first sparked that life was precious, and that fighting to defend it was worth the cost.

Bumblebee was an Autobot warrior, sworn to defend his Prime. He'd fought in a thousand battles, willing to give his all for a cause, for the people, he believed in. He'd seen the chaos and tragedy of war. Life and death decisions made in a spark-beat, with no time for doubt and reflection. He'd made those decisions himself, and would do again. If the situation called for it, he knew there'd be no hesitation in his spark. He'd give his life for Optimus, and for the sake of the humans who would die without Prime there to defend them.

And now? Now, without the heat of battle to drive his actions, but rather the long, slow decline into fear and despair? He couldn't waver. Bumblebee was willing to die to protect his friends. He would do so proudly, even knowing that he'd leave them confused and grieving. If he'd thought he could make it out of Base, or even out of the accommodation block, without Ratchet deactivating him he'd go now. He'd throw himself into clawed hands that would destroy him for ruining their plan, and take pleasure in making his death as slow and painful as possible.

Or there was another way.

Bumblebee stood, his movements slow and deliberate as he crossed the room to the recharge chamber. Even exerting all his strength, it took him some time to prize the metal box from its wall mountings, stepping out of the way as it tumbled forwards. The Autobot hesitated again, his optics scanning the thick cables and power conduits that fed into the back of the device as clattering echoes died away. Half-remembered lessons played across his optics. Happier times. The young 'bot playing in Wheeljack's workshop on the Ark, learning his lessons from the mechanic and Ratchet while their warrior friends were away. Spending hours tinkering with machinery, helping Wheeljack repair everything from starship engines to domestic recharge units like this one.

Now he stripped his fallen unit with his eyes, tracing its circuitry and disentangling familiar Cybertronian circuitry from the human-made components it was built with. Crouching, he reached out to take a power conduit in his hand, disengaging the four-inch-thick cable from its socket with a firm twist and laying it carefully to one side before moving on to the second.

Kneeling beside the ruins of his recharge chamber, hands in his lap, he stared at the two thick power cables lying on the floor in front of him. He didn't even hear the chime at his door, too caught up in his own turbulent thoughts.

Was this really what he'd come to?

Was he really being selfless, or just looking for a way to ease his own pain and uncertainty?

If he did this, there would be no coming back, no hope of repair or recovery. The great war would go on, but his role in it would be ended. He'd die alone and unregarded, his sacrifice not even recognised for what it was.

If he didn't, there was always the chance that inspiration would strike, and that Ratchet would figure out the problem. But it was a chance that receded with each passing hour, and every moment that he waited for that miracle was another when his mere presence threatened Prime's continued existence. He could live, but in doing so rob himself and others of their reason to go on. Did he dare risk that?

Open his chest armour, a cable either side of his spark chamber, a simple jolt and it would all be over: his life of imprisonment and fear, the anxiety he was causing his friends, the risk to Prime.

Now he'd realised the option existed, did he have the right to turn his back on that freedom?

He'd leaned forward, hands outstretched, when he felt his arms pinned to his side, his body pulled backwards into a tight, metallic embrace.

"Bumblebee!" Wheeljack's voice was hoarse. The engineer looked down at the younger Autobot, shocked into immobility in his arms, with a suspiciously liquid sheen coating his optics. For a few seconds Wheeljack just held his young friend, turning back to stare at the power cables glowing on the floor just inches away from them.

"I saw some weird power fluctuations from your quarters – thought I'd check them out and see how you were doing." He stopped, a shudder running through his body and into Bumblebee's. Bumblebee didn't fight, lying passive with his head against the older 'bot's chest panel. By rights he knew he should be struggling to get free, to break the contact and get back to those cables, for Wheeljack's own sake. Even if he could have forced his friend to witness that, he didn't have the energy. "By all the Primes, Bee… How can things possibly be that bad?"

The engineer eased backwards, pulling Bumblebee with him. Wheeljack didn't release him until they were several yards away, and even then watched Bumblebee carefully, standing between him and the ruins of the recharge chamber. Bee turned away, unable to meet his friend's searching eyes. Shuddering, he folded down into his vehicular form, hiding his face and casting the feeble beam from his headlights down onto the floor.

"Bumblebee… Ratchet and I haven't given up, you know. We're still searching your code, trying to track that 'con virus down." Wheeljack's fists clenched in frustration as he spoke to a Camaro as silent and inert as any human vehicle. He squatted down, rocking a little on his heels as he glanced over his shoulder at the deadly cables. "Tell you what, Bee. I've been planning to get some work done on that rocket pack Sideswipe's always wanted. Why don't you come watch for a while? Lend a hand maybe?"

It was phrased as an offer. It wasn't. At best, Bumblebee was being given the choice between leaving his quarters of his own accord or waiting until Ratchet arrived to shut him down and move him against his will. Bumblebee's engine coughed into life, its note high-pitched and straining as his flagging energy levels showed. Wheeljack waved him towards the door, striding close behind him, expression both concerned and desperately sad when Bumblebee hesitated in the doorway, half-turning to look back towards the fallen recharge chamber and the power conduits beside it. His engine might be tired, but he still had acceleration. If he could gauge his move just right, get the positioning dead on as he drove over the glowing cables…

The engineer moved slightly, the better to block Bumblebee's path, before he bent down, laying a hand on the Camaro's roof.

"I can come back and repair that later," he said, deliberately misinterpreting the look. "Let's just get out of here, okay, Bee?"

* * *

Sideswipe's rocket booster was the closest thing Wheeljack had to an all-purpose excuse. The device had sat on the side bench of the engineer's various workshops for as far back as Bumblebee could remember, ready to be called into service if Wheeljack needed something to keep his hands busy, or a reason not to get involved with whatever novel idea the younger Autobots were agitating for. Judging by the layer of dust Wheeljack had to clean off before he'd started work, he'd not touched the thing in the months since his arrival on Earth. Most likely, he'd not been planning to do so for the indefinite future.

Certainly the engineer didn't seem particularly interested in making progress. He'd been pottering away for upwards of an hour, throwing occasional comments or requests for equipment at the silent Camaro parked tight into the corner of his lab, and looking increasingly worried as his efforts met with a total lack of reaction.

"Bee…?" It came as a surprise for Bumblebee to realise Wheeljack had turned to face him directly, his hands falling idle and his pretence of working on the rocket booster at an end. "Whatever it is, don't do this to us. We… we can't lose you like this. Not so soon after getting you back. I've never seen the team roll out as fast as we did after getting your distress call. Do you have any idea how it felt to return to Base, realising the Decepticons had taken you and we were just too late? Do you even know what they did to you? After Sam's call… it was two days before Ratchet dared to hope you'd pull through and another day after that before we were sure your processors and memories could be recovered." He threw up his hands. "And then minutes after you finally come online, you run out on us in a blind panic. Less than a day later, you do it again!"

"The way you're behaving…" The mechanic folded his arms, staring pensively at the inert vehicle. "Sideswipe seriously thought we'd lost you – that the neural damage was too severe. I think he still does, whatever we tell him. Poor youngster's kicking himself for not insisting on going along for that road trip, never mind that you're a scout and that 'travels alone' is kind of your job description." The tall 'bot sighed, and Bumblebee realised his older friend was tired too, badly in need of his own recharge cycle. He wondered how many others on the base were suffering sleepless nights on his behalf. "Bee, Ratchet and I have gone over your systems. All of them. We know your reasoning is intact. Your memories are fine. You know what you're doing, even if you can't tell the rest of us. But what you almost did today…. I'm here for you, Bee. I'm trying to understand. But I'm worried. Screwing around with the recharger, trying to leave NEST unprotected when you're not fit and can't even call for help… what could possibly be worth throwing your life away?"

There was nothing Bumblebee could say, nothing he could even think. Guilt gnawed at him, both for the pain in Wheeljack's voice, and for the delay his indecision had caused. If he'd been a little braver, a little more certain of himself, this whole business would be over long since – quick, simple, safe.

"Bumblebee! Are you even listening to me?"

A feeble flash of his headlamps was the best answer Bumblebee could muster. Wheeljack hesitated, his frustration softening back into concern. The taller Autobot folded himself down into the surprisingly sporty alt-mode he'd chosen. Even the sight of the sportscar made Bumblebee feel more weary still. Wheeljack edged forward, sighing in relief when Bumblebee didn't object to his gentle nudge.

"Come on, youngster. Ratchet says he wants to see you for another test or two."

Bumblebee let himself be chivvied forward, the fight gone from him. Optimus Prime was absent, but other Autobots turned to stare as Wheeljack herded him across the hangar floor. Mudflap started forwards, stopping in the face of Bumblebee's automatic swerve in the opposite direction and a sharp warning from Wheeljack. Bumblebee hardly noticed the diversion. He was weary, depressed and unsurprised to end up in the medical bay. He'd known better than to think his engineer friend would keep this incident to himself. No doubt the senior 'bots had been discussing his actions for most of the last hour already.

He hardly bothered to glance at Ratchet, his optics on the open door to his left. The recharge chamber in med-bay's observation and isolation room already glowed with an inviting blue light. He edged towards it, stopping as he told himself not to look too eager.

"Bumblebee?" Ratchet was holding out a scanner, frowning as he read its display. "You're looking pretty tired." The medic glanced up at Wheeljack, silent communications flying between them. "Why don't you stop here for tonight? I can get these tests done while you get a good recharge cycle in."

He'd been expecting it and wanted nothing more, but even so Bumblebee hesitated, turning to look over his shoulder, as if he could see through the freshly-repaired walls and out into the hangar. He backed away from the door and shuddered, letting loose a low moan of display. Ratchet crouched in front of the yellow Camaro.

"You can't hide away forever, Bumblebee," he said gently, before sighing. "But you're almost as stubborn as Prime, aren't you, youngster? You'll hold out on recharging until you're too weak to fight me."

Bumblebee backed away a little, more for show than because he was seriously worried about either Ratchet or Wheeljack being a trigger factor. Both had spent more time carrying him around, repairing or generally ministering to him in recent days than at any time since he was a sparkling, but he had to make them understand how he felt. The two exchanged glances before Ratchet nodded reluctantly.

"Would it help if I lock the medical bay? Emergencies aside, it'll just be me or Wheeljack here, okay?"

It was the best compromise Bumblebee could hope for. He rolled slowly into the observation room, not bothering to check whether the cameras and monitors that lined the room were active. He'd abandoned any hope of privacy the moment he found himself caught up in Wheeljack's arms. Transforming, he climbed into the chamber, welcoming the oncoming oblivion as his recharge cycle swept awareness away.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Bumblebee woke to the deep sound of Optimus Prime's voice. For a moment it brought back the familiar sense of comfort and safety. Then he remembered.

He jerked from a post-recharge glow into full wakefulness, his optics blazing into life as he tried to figure out the situation. The isolation room was empty, its bare white surfaces reflecting the fluorescent lighting. Wincing, Bumblebee blinked his optics, automatically dialling down their sensitivity as he peered out into the medical bay, afraid he'd see Prime peering back at him. He sighed, slumping back into the recharge chamber as his sensors only showed him Ratchet, standing at the main door to the medical wing and blocking it with his body.

"I promised him, Optimus. Don't make me break my word."

"And how long do you expect him to stay in a sealed repair bay?"

Ratchet sighed. "Honestly, I don't know. But Wheeljack doesn't think he's safe alone and I have to agree. If that means he recharges here, and the door stays locked, then so be it."

Prime rumbled in frustration. "This situation cannot continue."

Ratchet didn't disagree, leaning back against the doorframe and folding his arms across his chest. "The youngster's terrified, Primus only knows why, but he's still our Bumblebee… for now. Push him too hard and he might snap so badly we never get him back."

"'Our Bumblebee' has a great many friends, all of whom miss him and are concerned for his health. It is a great weight on our sparks to see him so distressed." Prime sighed deeply. "What happened to him, Ratchet? What could traumatise a warrior with Bumblebee's strength of mind this badly?" There were a few seconds of silence as both Autobots considered that great unanswerable question. "I feel I'm failing him, old friend. Has my warrior lost such confidence in me that he cannot bear my presence? Does he blame my guidance for his injuries? Is this my fault?"

Bumblebee wanted to cry out in denial. He felt lubricant leak into his optics as he heard his leader's doubts. He held his silence, wrapping his arms around himself as he struggled with his conscience. Anything he could say now, any attempt to negate Prime's speculations, would be interpreted as an invitation. That was something he couldn't afford.

He couldn't risk Prime coming into the room. Bad enough he was still here himself, far too close to his leader and idol, confusing and hurting his friends. Prime had said the others missed him. He missed them too, all of them, and his human companion most of all. He thought of Sam, the veneer of lubricant thickening across his optics and leaking from their corners. Would the young man ever return? Would he ever want to after the Autobot's flat refusal to see or talk to him? Bumblebee's initial anger with his friend had long-since faded, softened by understanding and by the loneliness that grew with each passing day.

Even as he prayed they'd come no closer, Bumblebee hung on Prime's voice and on Ratchet's.

Ratchet gave Bumblebee's protest voice. "This isn't your fault, Optimus. If it's anyone's, it's that bastard Soundwave's."

"Soundwave?" Prime rumbled, anger in his tone. Ratchet matched it.

"He may not have been the one to snatch Bee, but it's his handiwork that's doing the harm now. This virus has got his fingerprints all over it." The medic rubbed his head. "And if anyone's failing Bumblebee, it's me. I'm trying, Prime, I really am. But until I isolate the source code, I'm working in the dark. I'm sorry, but it's not going to be fast. I haven't been able to track down anything but the smallest code fragments. I'm going to keep trying – every waking hour if I have to – but I can't make promises…"

Bumblebee had heard enough. He couldn't stand this. Dashing the excess lubricant away with the back of one hand, he stepped out of the recharge station, deliberately striking its side wall with his arm. The clang echoed through the room, dulled by the plasterboard walls. There was a busy silence from outside, Prime and Ratchet switching to data transfer to finish their conversation, and then the softest of clicks as the med bay door closed. A moment later Ratchet appeared at the threshold of the inner chamber.

The medic's face was neutral as he scanned Bumblebee up and down. If he saw any evidence of Bumblebee's tears, he didn't comment on it.

"How are you feeling today, youngster?"

Bumblebee shrugged, looking down to avoid his friend's eyes. Ratchet didn't argue.

"Anything I can help with?" he asked, sighing when Bumblebee just shook his head, eyes still glued to the floor.

"Any thoughts on what you want to do today?"

Go. Get away. Escape. Keep his friends safe. He glanced up, unable to stop himself, and Ratchet read the desperation in his eyes. The medic hesitated, but Bumblebee had accepted Wheeljack's touch the day before. Emboldened, Ratchet stepped forward and placed a hand on Bumblebee's shoulder. The younger machine flinched, but didn't retreat, almost as desperate to receive the comforting touch as Ratchet was for him to take it.

The medic's blue optics glowed with earnestness, their flicker a little sad. "I told you before that I'm not going to apologise for keeping you alive, Bumblebee. But you don't have to face this alone."

Bumblebee leaned into the touch for a moment. Then he sighed and straightened, pushing past the medic and on into the med-bay, hopping up to sit on the edge of the examination table. Ratchet followed, studying Bumblebee in bemusement.

"You're just going to watch me work?"

Again Bumblebee shrugged. He'd worked with his fellow Autobots long enough to realise that he'd be intercepted before he reached his quarters. Anywhere else he went on Base, he'd face watchful eyes and the constant effort of avoiding close proximity to any of his friends. The med-bay was as good a place as any to while away his pointless days.

Shrugging in return, Ratchet pulled up a chair of his own. Reaching for a flask of the energon-enriched lubricant both humans and Autobots jokingly referred to as 'coffee', he poured out two mugs, pushing one towards his companion. Then the medic settled down in front of his computer terminal, pulling up a data file of Bumblebee's core code and getting to work.

* * *

Ratchet put up with his silent spectator for half the day, throwing the occasional comment or explanation in Bumblebee's direction, but growing increasingly less voluble as his frustration with his own lack of progress grew. It was just after the humans' lunchtime when Wheeljack poked his head into the medical bay, inviting Bumblebee to join him in the workshop instead.

Bumblebee wasn't entirely sure who Wheeljack was rescuing – the pressurised medic or his despondent patient. Either way, he followed the engineer without protest, watching Wheeljack switch from working on the rocket boosters to fiddling with a new device, the purpose of which remained obscure. Bumblebee couldn't make himself take an interest, even when Wheeljack pointed the thing at him to calibrate it. His mind was working slowly when it worked at all. He felt trapped, with no prospect of escape and no idea what he could do to change his situation. More than ever he rued his hesitation the day before, and found himself resenting Wheeljack for his intervention, despite the voice of his conscience that told him it was all his own fault.

Bumblebee didn't even ask about his own quarters that night, silently leading Wheeljack back towards the med bay, and returning to the observation room not because he needed to recharge but because he craved the oblivion that came with the cycle. Ratchet was still working at his desk when Bumblebee awoke the following morning. The medic looked old, exhausted to near the point of collapse by his recent efforts. Bumblebee didn't need words, taking his friend by the shoulders and pushing him towards the med-bay recharge chamber in an unmistakeable gesture. Ratchet resisted only long enough for Wheeljack to turn up and take over the watch, the engineer already chuckling as he came through the door and backed the younger Autobot up.

Bumblebee slept that night in Wheeljack's quarters, recharging while the engineer worked quietly beside him, that same unexplained gadget turning over and over in his hands.

* * *

He and Wheeljack were halfway across the hangar floor on the third day before Bumblebee noticed Optimus Prime watching from where he stood with Ironhide by the command gantry. The huge Autobot was no closer than he'd been standing at the med-bay door. He'd almost certainly been closer still over the week and more since Bumblebee's first escape attempt. Even so, Bumblebee's reaction was pure instinct. He slammed into reverse so quickly his tyres squealed, eyes turning to him from all around the vast space. Skidding backwards, he was almost at the wall when Prime held up a hand, signalling him to stop. For a moment, Prime's blue optics scanned the trembling yellow Camaro, holding him frozen in place. They seemed to be searching, looking for answers maybe as Prime's giant hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. Then Optimus Prime transformed, turning and rolling out through the hangar doors with a slow, sad movement. Ironhide's shot both Bumblebee and Wheeljack a glare that could have stripped paint. Shaking his head, expression angry, he transformed and followed his commander out into the daylight.

Whether Wheeljack called in their movements after that, or Prime and his lieutenant simply had other things to do, Bumblebee never encountered either 'bot in the hangar again.

It was on the fourth day after Wheeljack pulled him from his quarters that the engineer turned right instead of left on one of their periodic rotations from med-bay to workshop, and Bumblebee found himself blinking in the sunlight. He stalled, engine fading into silence on the threshold of the hangar. It took all Wheeljack's coaching for him to move off, following his older friend out onto the Base's inner perimeter road. If Wheeljack hadn't kept up a constant stream of gossip, observations and encouragement, he'd probably have bolted back under cover, or perhaps towards the wide blue horizon. As it was, he pretended not to notice the Autobot presence on every gate and the faster scouts posted as interceptors outside the fence. They pretended not to notice his hesitation and frequent longing glances towards the world outside the Base. Circuit over, he followed Wheeljack back inside, feeling better for running his engines above idle for the first time since his escape attempt, even as he felt guilty for putting everyone to the trouble.

By the following day the guard presence was lighter, but still watchful, and Bumblebee couldn't hide his relief to find the hangar almost deserted when Wheeljack finally led him back into the familiar shelter.

Two days after that Sideswipe pulled in on Wheeljack's other side, joining them for what the engineer had taken to calling their 'daily constitutional' and sparing the older 'bot's exhausted voice-box as they made their circuit. The Corvette was nervous; his speed never varying by more than a single mile an hour from Wheeljack's, and his comments coming in short bursts. He scarcely looked at Bumblebee, the few glances he sent in his friend's direction searching for any hint of what the silent Camaro was thinking.

Sideswipe's nerves, his uncharacteristic hesitancy, were annoying in a way Bumblebee couldn't have put words to. The following day, the yellow scout let the three of them get halfway around the Base perimeter before he put in a burst of speed and then braked hard, laughing softly when both Corvette and hot-rod mechanic accelerated past him, expecting him to make a run for freedom. Transforming, Sideswipe stared at his little friend and the chuckling Wheeljack with a startled expression, more of relief than anger. Rising and falling on his wheel-rims in an Autobot shrug, Bumblebee fell into line beside Sideswipe, careful to keep a distance between them but no longer using Wheeljack as a mobile shield as he led two thoughtful 'bots back into Base.

* * *

Bumblebee had been recharging in the medical bay for twelve days when, instead of Wheeljack coming to collect him, Sideswipe turned up alone. The silver warrior's eyes darted nervously towards Ratchet, but there was real hope in his voice when he asked nervously whether they should make it a junior-Autobots-only afternoon. Bumblebee felt Ratchet's eyes willing him on as he hesitated, wondering what he'd do if Sideswipe closed in too far or tried to touch him without Wheeljack there to warn him off.

It was the medic's obvious anxiety that decided the young Autobot. He hadn't failed to notice Ratchet's growing despair, or the fact that the older Autobot only seemed to recharge when Bumblebee or Wheeljack insisted upon it. He hadn't needed to overhear another conversation to realise that Ratchet was rapidly approaching the conclusion his muteness was incurable. And if that virus lingered in his systems forever, then so would the variants Ratchet wasn't even aware of. He'd be a threat to his friends forever,

The realisation didn't hurt as much as it should have done. Bumblebee's initial acute despair had faded into a dull melancholy as his mere presence on Base failed to have noticeable side-effects. He still didn't dare allow others to touch him, and the mere thought of a visit from Prime set him shuddering – to the obvious concern of his mechanic friends when they made the suggestion. Even Ratchet's tentative offer to connect a call through to Sam had been met with a frown and a shake of his head, the 'bot's lingering sense of betrayal less important now than the fact that spending time with Sam now would just drag the human youth back into the mire of Decepticon intrigue. Immune as Sam might be to computer viruses, he wouldn't be safe from Starscream and Megatron when they hunted the scout down for failing to carry through their plan.

Bumblebee knew that letting Sideswipe close was dangerous too – a sign of his own weakness. Realistically the only future he faced was one of total isolation, to avoid the accidental trigger he feared above all else. Now though, he was starting to see that isolation as a viable option, not an inevitable slide towards the final escape of self-destruction. Maybe it was the fresh air and exercise, or maybe he'd just got used to the idea. Driving the base with Wheeljack and Sideswipe, watching Ratchet, he was starting to see brief glimpses of colour once again amidst the greys of his self-isolation. He'd still have to leave the base, for everyone's safety. Given time and the energon reserve he needed, he'd have to get off planet even. Now though he was starting to think that one day, if he was patient, if he made just these few concessions and asserted his rationality, he might yet convince his friends to allow him to go.

He nodded slowly, deliberately ignoring the relieved and triumphant looks Ratchet and Sideswipe exchanged. Folding down into his vehicular form, he revved his engine. It took a few seconds for Sideswipe to realise what he was waiting for. The silver warrior transformed and led the way without argument. Bumblebee followed with more than a little trepidation, never getting within five metres of his friend's rear bumper.

* * *

The Decepticon attack caught everyone by surprise. As relentless as the ancient war was, and always had been, the final destruction of the Fallen had heralded a minor lull in overt confrontations. There was still a little casual terrorism, of course, and the occasional scuffle… or the rare ambush of lone fighters. Even the most paranoid of the Autobots didn't expect an all-out assault on NEST headquarters.

Caught in the open, miles from the nearest cover, Bumblebee froze as a deep, familiar throb of helicopter blades filled the air. Sideswipe, skidding to a halt beside him, didn't notice at first. His focus entirely on Bumblebee, he questioned his friend, searching anxiously for an explanation. Then shouts from the Autobots assigned to the perimeter made it clear Grindor wasn't alone. Dust clouds rose behind the Decepticon vehicles approaching on every road, providing the backdrop for a frantic scramble as the humans of NEST hurried to barricade their gates.

Sideswipe transformed. Standing tall to get a better view, the warrior didn't notice that he was drifting away from his friend. He took a few steps forward, his fists clenching with eagerness to join the imminent fight. It wasn't until he glanced behind him that he realised Bumblebee was still frozen to the spot, the yellow Camaro low to the ground and obviously terrified.

The blades of Grindor filled the air above them, the big assault helicopter passing directly overhead. Sideswipe was looking up, scowling ineffectually at the larger 'con, when Ravage leapt from Grindor's hatch. Knocking the tall silver warrior to the ground, the feline mech landed, snarling, on his chest.

Bumblebee wanted to move, wanted to help his friend or just run for cover. Instead he found his thoughts trapped in a feedback loop, the mere sound of the Decepticon 'copter bringing back the sensory memory of a spear piercing his roof, and of a cold that froze both mind and body.

The screaming approach of a second aircraft blended out of his memories, coming as no surprise. Starscream swept low and fast across the base, strafing the runway and scattering the humans racing to get their own craft airborne. It can't have been a coincidence that his path brought him directly above Bumblebee, a hundred feet now from where Sideswipe and Ravage tussled on the ground. The young scout felt the deep sensor scan in every circuit he possessed. He felt Starscream querying his processors, and their garbled response – the exchange over within fractions of a second.

The data-voice, when it came, was carried on a pulsed laser, directed straight towards Bumblebee's receptors, with no chance of signal leakage and no way for the other Autobots to intercept the signal.

_STARSCREAM__: And still the seed lives inside you. My master grows impatient, little one, but not for much longer. Your friends approach. The more you accept their concern, the closer you come to betraying them. Soon now, very soon, they will curse your name._

No! The protest Bumblebee threw back was an incomprehensible muddle of characters. He transformed, bringing his canon up to bear on the powerful jet, all the time knowing he might as well fire a pop gun at a tank. He fired anyway, Starscream's mocking laughter his only reaction, before turning and firing a round at Ravage instead, knocking the small Decepticon away from Sideswipe.

The mechanical feline turned and hissed, before glancing over his shoulder and turning towards the fence. Bumblebee watched him run, clearing the human-made barrier in a single leap, and turned quickly to scan Sideswipe for damage. His warrior friend bounced to his feet with an expression more angry and startled than pained.

"You okay, little buddy?" he asked, blades still extended as he swept his surroundings for any further threat. There was none. Already the other Autobots had repulsed the feint from around the perimeter, surprised at how easily the Decepticons had been driven off. Starscream had been right. Their friends were approaching. Autobots were converging from every direction, Prime flanked by Ironhide and Ratchet as all three raced to the aid of their young warriors.

Bumblebee shook his head, staggering a step or two backwards before folding into his vehicular form. His wheels spun on the dusty earth. Sideswipe's startled oath echoed behind him as he screamed away, headed straight for the fence.

Fully charged, and not far off fully fit, the yellow Camaro was fast. Even Sideswipe struggled to overtake him, the Corvette edging alongside until Bumblebee's own reluctance to risk physical contact forced him to swerve off from his straight run at the fence and onto the Base perimeter road.

Wheeljack and Rachet were both directing data-bursts at him, urging him to slow down and wait for them. He didn't listen, even ignoring Prime's instruction to do the same. He'd been growing complacent, tolerating an ever-higher risk to his friends as he grew more comfortable around them. He should have known better. He tried to veer left again, searching for a way past Sideswipe to the fence and the wide sweep of freedom beyond. It was futile, his friend pressing close even as both their engines throbbed in high gear.

At this speed, a crash could wreck them both, not to mention contaminate Sides with the very virus Bumblebee was trying to protect him from. More than that, the rest of the Autobot contingent was closing in. Any moment now Ratchet would activate the immobiliser still planted under Bumblebee's dashboard. Any hope of escape would be gone, and Bee would be left insensible and unable to protest as Ratchet, or maybe even Prime himself, carried him back to the medical bay.

With a low moan of dismay, Bumblebee gave up. He stopped challenging Sideswipe, stopped trying to get to the fence, and turned back towards the centre of the base instead. His speed dropped a little, his wheels and engine protesting the hard workout now that the edge of his terror had faded. Even so, he kept well ahead, racing Optimus Prime and the others back into the shelter of the hangar.

Humans scattered as Bumblebee darted in through the wide doors and across the concrete floor to the private quarters beyond. He slammed on the brakes as he skidded into his own long-abandoned room, transforming to bang a fist against the door lock when his attempt to broadcast the locking codes ended up as scrambled gibberish.

The room had been all but stripped, his meagre belongings still arranged on their shelves, but the chair and most of the fittings gone. The room's lamps didn't illuminate automatically, and a swift probe showed Bumblebee only the barest trickle of power behind the room's walls. Certainly nowhere near enough to power a major conduit of any kind... or to do any harm to a Cybertronian body. No one was taking any chances on him, not any more.

Sinking back against one wall, he hugged his knees to his chest, staring at the empty space where his recharge chamber had once stood, only the glow of his own blue optics giving shape to the darkness. He heard voices outside, Ratchet, Sideswipe and Optimus Prime all asking him to open the door. Idly, he wondered how long it would be before Ratchet simply overrode it to check on him and order him back out to the med bay. Probably not long. He didn't know. He didn't care. Powering down his optics, Bumblebee rocked backwards and forwards, wondering how he was ever going to get out of this situation, and how it was all going to end.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

"Ratchet, how is he? Really?"

Bumblebee's head jerked upwards, the familiar voice breaking through his melancholy. Wheeljack paused in the doorway, hesitating. The engineer hadn't wanted to bring Bumblebee back to med bay so soon. He'd tried to engage the Camaro in maintenance work for upwards of two hours before attempting to coax him out for a run in the sunshine, broadcasting reassurances and snapshots from the base's quiet early warning system the whole time. Only Bumblebee's flat refusal to leave the hangar for the third day running had led to their premature return.

Judging by the medic's slouching posture, turned away from the door, and the active com-screen that held his attention, Wheeljack hadn't thought to warn Ratchet they were on their way back.

"Sam, if there were news, I'd let you know. You have your own life, your college studies to consider. You cannot continue to call every day."

Sam's image was pale, heavy shadows under his eyes. "He might hate my guts for what I did, but he's still my car, Ratchet. My best friend. If I didn't think he'd kick me out the minute I walked through the door, I'd be on a flight in a heartbeat. Damn it, Ratchet! You said things were getting better… before those damn 'cons turned up!"

Bumblebee's shoulders slumped, his optics fading as sorrow and guilt flooded him. He'd thought Sam would move on, the pain of rejection with the fleeting rapidity of any other human emotion. It hurt him to see his companion grieving their separation almost as profoundly as Bumblebee himself did. More than anything he wanted to go to the video screen, reach out to his friend, use whatever clumsy sign-language his stiff fingers could manage to convey the fact that he'd forgiven Sam long ago, and that his human companion was still his closest friend. For a wild moment he imagined moving out of the Base and rejoining Sam at college. Even if it were possible, he couldn't, not if he wanted to keep Sam out of this re-igniting war. He couldn't add to Sam's pain by encouraging him to believe otherwise.

He backed out of the doorway, sinking down in the corridor outside with his head in his hands. Wheeljack crouched beside him, and a moment later, Ratchet was there too, encouraging him to stand up. Ratchet's eyes were hopeful as he offered to call Sam back and let the two 'talk'. His face fell when Bumblebee just looked at him with sad optics before beeping out a negative.

The young Autobot shook off the hands of his colleagues, walking slowly in the direction of his quarters. He'd discovered most of the cameras and sensors there over the last few days, each one a tangible measure of his friends' concern. He didn't care. The room gave him at least a semblance of privacy. Closing the door and leaving himself in darkness, he sat and stared at the empty port for the recharge chamber, imagining the freedom and peace it might have given him, and wondering whether there was any other way he could achieve that end.

* * *

"Hey, Bee." Sideswipe's greeting was awkward. Given that he'd just overridden the lock on his friend's quarters, presumably using codes given to him by Ratchet, that was only natural. "Wheeljack says you don't fancy watching him potter around the workshop today. Again Don't blame you, really, but that's - what? - four days you've been stuck in here now! So how about this: how about you come hang out with me for a bit instead?"

Bumblebee didn't respond, not moving from his huddle against one wall. Only the soft glow of his blue optics gave any indication that he was conscious at all.

"Come on, kid. You've gotta come out of this place sometime." Sides shifted, his discomfort obvious as he stood in the doorway. He crouched, ducking his head as he tried to catch Bumblebee's gaze. "We don't even have to go outside, not if you don't want to, little buddy. I just thought we could grab a coffee and chill for a while. That sound like fun?"

Sideswipe wasn't a lot older than Bumblebee, but he was talking to him as if to a sparkling. That rankled. Bumblebee didn't let the reaction show, his dull gaze locked on his own knees. If he ignored Sideswipe for long enough, the silver warrior would give up and leave, just as Ratchet and Wheeljack had. Or perhaps not. Sideswipe sighed and struck below the belt-plates.

"Bee… Prime says if we can't get you out of here soon, he'll come and get you out himself." Sideswipe watched sadly as the fear he'd expected but couldn't possibly understand jerked Bumblebee's head up. The smaller 'bot shook his head, his horn beeping 'no' with all the vehemence he could muster.

The tall silver warrior hesitated for a few seconds before taking a step forward into the room, kneeling in front of his friend. Bumblebee couldn't help watching with a twinge of curiosity. Sideswipe was never the most vocal of 'bots. Bumblebee was used to providing most of the conversation for both of them, or sometimes changing the subject to spare Sideswipe the difficulty of putting his feelings into awkward words. Today he just listened, touched by the effort his friend was making. "We're not going to let you do this to yourself, Bee. Not again. Okay, you can't tell us what's going on in your processor, but there isn't a problem we can't face together. Or anything worth throwing it all away for. There's a whole wide world out of there, and, damn, but it's kind of beautiful – I think you were starting to see that again before that bastard Starscream buzzed us. Is that what happened before, Bee? Was it Starscream who did this to you?"

Bumblebee shuddered before he could stop himself. It was all the answer Sideswipe needed. His fists clenched at his sides as he heard the armoured plates rattle. "I'm gonna make that 'con pay… someday." He shook his head, sharply. "But today, I've got a little buddy to look after. So, you going to come quietly, Bumblebee? Or do I go get Prime?"

Releasing his knees reluctantly, Bumblebee pushing himself up with his hands. His joints ached from disuse, making every movement painful. He flinched, looking up with a wailed 'no' when Sideswipe approached to help. The skirmisher hesitated before nodding with obvious reluctance and backing up a step, his hands spread wide and open in front of him. Another burst of effort and Bumblebee was upright, unaided. It shouldn't have felt like even that was a minor victory.

The young Autobot sighed, waving for Sideswipe to lead the way.

* * *

The humans in NEST had never quite understood what constituted 'relaxation' amongst their Autobot allies. They'd provided a partitioned building for the Autobots' personal quarters, accepting without question that a few shelves and a recharge booth per room were all the 'furniture' most of the 'bots required. Given the infrequency with which a recharge was actually necessary, as opposed to just an alternate method of relaxation, half the rooms were used no more than once a week, the Autobot contingent spending the rest of their time out and about, or whiling away the long down hours parked together in the hangar, where they could share data chatter and relax in good company.

That was all well and good. What Major Lennox and his team didn't seem able to get their heads around was the fact that on a Cybertronian world, built to a Cybertronian scale, the Autobots habitually behaved in a way their human allies would find far more familiar. The occasional request for an Autobot-sized chair was one thing, granted with 'Land of the Giants' jokes and a few bemused looks. The 'coffee shop' was quite another.

Wheeljack had been one of the last senior Autobots to arrive on Earth. The inventive engineer took one look at his bored colleagues – forced into near inaction on a regular basis by this world's ludicrously short solar cycle – and started wracking his processor for some way to bolster their flagging morale.

A conventional entertainment venue seemed unnecessary, given the ease with which an Autobot could tap Earth's data-network and the humans' impressive creativity when it came to the works stored there. He'd had a large screen and a digital projector installed in part of the hangar, simply so those 'bots who wished to could watch their selection in company, and moved on.

It had been an early morning encounter with a pre-first-coffee Major Lennox, and his subsequent close examination of the base's human coffee machine that provided the answer. That morning's urgent excursion, together with an outraged Lennox and amused Ironhide, to collect a hundred paper containers of caffeinated beverage and a replacement espresso machine from the nearest outlet had opened his eyes to a whole sub-culture in their new host nation.

Two days, and a lot of consultation with Ratchet, later, Wheeljack proudly unveiled what he called 'the first Cybertronian coffee machine'. Initially wary, most of the Autobot contingent had been hooked on the stuff within days. In less than a week, an entire corner of the main hangar had become littered with huge chairs, the occasional similarly-scaled table, and a handful of precious gaming boards - either pulled out from one 'bot or another's meagre personal possessions, or improvised from their Earth equivalents. Off-duty Autobots could be found sitting around the machine and chatting as frequently as they could parked, or locked away on recharge. The 'coffee shop' had been born.

It lay ahead of Bumblebee as he edged out onto the barren concrete floor. On the other side of the hangar, humans exercised or worked on their vehicles or did the hundred other things that kept this alliance running. Beyond them, the afternoon sun shone brightly through the open doors, the mere sight of it making Bumblebee shudder.

He closed the gap to Sideswipe a little, trying to resist the urge to switch to his more compact vehicular form, the better to hide from the sympathetic looks thrown in his direction from all around. At least the coffee shop was quiet. At this time of day, most of the Autobots would be on patrol, recharging after their duty periods, or hard at work elsewhere on the Base. Only Jolt sat in one of the enormous chairs, idly flicking through files on the data-pad he held in one hand.

It was the gallon-sized jug the blue-clad scout held in the other that caught Bumblebee's attention. Recharge chambers primarily existed to boost a Cybertronian's power supply. Their auxiliary mechanisms served another purpose, topping up the lubricant-come-conductor that ran through a Cybertronian's conduits in order to distribute energon to where it was needed and ease the stiff movements of living metal. In theory that was all any Autobot needed. Until Wheeljack came up with his brain-spark, the only reason they'd ever take anything by mouth, or activate their secondary ingestion mechanisms would be in case of great damage, or occasionally on a primitive world where conventional recharge was out of the question.

Wheeljack's 'coffee', a filtered batch of motive fluid enriched with pure energon that sent a tingle through an Autobot's every system in much the same way as caffeine jolted a human's, had changed all that. None of them could resist it's lure, or saw any reason to try. If there'd been any risk of physical harm or impaired judgement, Ratchet would have put a stop it. As it was, he'd become as addicted as the rest of them. Even Optimus had fallen prey to the stuff, sipping it as he discussed strategy with Lennox, and mingling more with his warriors and followers than he had at any time since they left the familiar confines of the Ark, long ago.

Over the last few weeks Bumblebee had survived on the occasional mug of hours-old 'coffee', poured for him from Ratchet's flask or Wheeljack's. He hadn't dared come here, where the pressure of sympathetic eyes and the risk of chance contact with one of his friends were usually so high. Even with Sideswipe forcing it on him now, and as much as he hated being out in the open, he found himself speeding up a little, coffee machine ahead of him. If he had to be out of his room, he might as well make the most of this quiet time. It was far too long since he'd enjoyed the sizzle of the fresh stuff coursing through his systems.

Sideswipe chuckled as Bumblebee drew alongside rather than lagging behind him.

"Go ahead. You know how you like it, Bee. I'll take mine as it comes." He waved the smaller Autobot forward to the coffee machine, veering aside to talk quietly to the rather startled Jolt.

Bumblebee strode to the coffee machine, anticipation brightening his eyes for the first time in days. It was only as he stood in front of the thing that he registered the nagging sense of wrongness that had been growing for the last few minutes. He stopped a few metres from the machine, scanning his surroundings carefully, confirming that Jolt and Sideswipe were the only Autobots within range, before scanning the coffee maker itself. The machine looked just as it had when he'd helped Wheeljack install it. The tall metal cylinder flashed with green lights, the buttons for its various options glowing softly. A deeper scan, and Bumblebee could see the power conduit pulsing within the thing, carrying energon up from their supply reservoir deep beneath the concrete floor. It all looked fine, but Bumblebee hesitated even so. Every instinct he possessed said that something here wasn't as it should be.

"Bee?"

Bumblebee waved a vague hand in Sideswipe and Jolt's direction, understanding the worried looks both gave him, but resenting them nonetheless. Was he becoming as paranoid as they thought him? Dismissing the thought, he stepped forward and raised a hand towards the control pad to order their drinks.

Something wasn't as it should be, and that 'something' was Bumblebee himself. He felt the data connection spark to life through him, his subconscious processors making their own link to the coffee machine. Instructions streamed through his hand-sensors, his conscious mind helpless to resist them. It was over in a split second, nothing for his watching caretakers to see.

They both reacted when Bumblebee staggered backwards with a startled cry, breaking the contact and rubbing his hand. He backed up until he hit a table, slumping to the ground beside it and staring down at a hand that felt odd, as if caught by some sort of electrical charge. Jolt came a few steps forward, before Bumblebee's terrified eyes and double-beep of 'no' stopped him. Sideswipe was less wary. He ignored his friend's outflung hand of warning, moving to crouch in front of him, hands hovering awkwardly, just feet away. Bumblebee scrambled backward, actually under the table, more convinced than ever that something evil lurked inside him, its threat to his friends growing by the second.

"I'm calling Ratchet and Wheeljack."

Sides just nodded in response to Jolt's uneasy announcement, not turning around. "Bumblebee, what's wrong? Does anything hurt?"

How to explain? Bumblebee eyed the coffee machine warily, trying to figure out what it had done to him, or maybe what he'd done to it. He shook his head, his motors whirring in frustration. He scooted back further, putting the table between himself and Sideswipe before climbing to his feet.

No. He beeped the word, cursing his inability to communicate, before pointing vehemently at the coffee machine.

Sideswipe stared at him in honest confusion. "_Now_ you want some coffee?"

No! Bumblebee gripped the edge of the table in front of him for balance. The shake of his head was echoed by the shivers running through him. He'd felt the alien code crawl out of his own mind and slither through his body. The shock of it still had him shaken.

"Hey, dudes!" The cheerful voice of Mudflap broke the fragile tableau. Bumblebee took another step backwards, spinning to locate its source. Sideswipe started, turning swiftly in the same direction. The red twin froze on the edge of the coffee shop area, backlit against the light streaming through the hangar doors. "Uh, hi Bee-bro?" he added, startled and a little alarmed to find the other 'bot present.

"What's going down here?" Skids' voice was another unwelcome shock, and Bumblebee twisted back around, his eyes brightening with fear and concern. The green-clad twin was already mere feet from the coffee machine, his optics irised wide.

Sideswipe raised his hands, trying to calm the situation as he moved a step closer towards an increasingly agitated Bumblebee. "Bee, calm down. It's okay. You know Mudflap and Skids, right? You know they're not going to hurt you."

That's not what I'm afraid of! For the hundredth time, Bumblebee wanted to scream the words. This time he actually let loose a data stream, trying to explain, getting only blank looks in return as his fellow Autobots tried to process the random gibberish he broadcast.

"Uh… hey, can I get anyone else some coffee?" Skids offered nervously.

The words sparked off every warning signal Bumblebee possessed. The two blasts of his horn echoed off the rafters and rebounded back from the steel walls. His eyes had drifted to Sideswipe, the closest of his friends, now they turned back to Skids and his burglar alarm split the air with a piercing wail. He heard startled exclamations from all around as he activated his arm-cannon, the lethal weapon spinning into place with Skids dead centre in his sights, at point-blank range.

The small Autobot stood directly in front of the coffee machine, a look of sudden fear in his eyes as he backed up a step or two. Bumblebee knew he was frightening his young friend. He couldn't think about that right now, couldn't think about anything but the beaker of gently-glowing liquid in Skids' big left hand.

"Bumblebee!" Sideswipe's horrified exclamation was almost lost beneath Skids' jabbering.

"Okay, man! Okay! You _really_ don't want coffee! I get it! Right? I'll just… I'll just go…" The small green mech edged towards his twin, Mudflap beckoning with a lack of subtlety that would have been amusing at any other time. Bumblebee's cannon tracked Skids without wavering, not caring about the twins' near-panic. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the freshly-filled mug held in that green-armoured hand.

He replayed what he could of the codes that had violated him, listened again to Starscream's whispers, and knew that memory wasn't the only poison he'd been carrying inside him.

No. He beeped the command, not willing to let Skids move an inch further with the contaminated drink. The small 'bot froze, shuddering in fear.

"Bumblebee, put the weapon away." Sideswipe's instruction was low and clear. He repeated it in the same even tone. "Bee, please. You really don't want to do this."

Bee didn't move, didn't take his eyes off the mug Skids held, willing his friends to realise he was genuinely anxious, not just suffering the sudden lapse in sanity they all feared.

"You leave my brother alone, you cracked junkheap!" Mudflap's spirited cry dragged Bumblebee's attention to him for a split second, but the scout hadn't survived a lifetime of warfare by being so easily distracted. He was already priming his cannon, tracking his target as Skids turned to run, mug still clasped in one hand.

His cannon shell ricocheted off the concrete floor inches from Skids' feet at almost the same moment as Jolt tackled the smaller 'bot, his momentum carrying them both out of Bumblebee's firing line. Bumblebee's eyes didn't follow his friends beyond noting clinically that they'd fallen clear. He trusted Jolt to keep both his own head and his rescuee's down. Instead, he fired off a second shell as the mug flew up and out of the young Autobot's hands. The live munitions vapourised the container before it could spill more than a few drops of its contents onto the concrete floor, the loud concussion startling a synchronised cry out of both twins.

He was spinning, snap-aiming at the coffee machine itself, when a weight slammed into him, pinning his arms to his sides. He fought, panic gripping him as he realised that he might never get another chance, that he had to take the machine out now before the alien code he'd infected it with could do its work.

He'd grown up amongst warriors, trained with them almost since the day he was sparked. He broke Sideswipe's hold and twisted free, only to find himself carried down under Jolt's weight. Howling in frustration he bucked, throwing the blue-clad warrior off, and fighting to bring his cannon to bear before Sideswipe was back, creaking a little from the force of the blows Bumblebee used to ward him off.

The desperate scout was a good fighter, but as much as he wanted to destroy the poison he'd planted, he wasn't prepared to do it at the cost of serious injury to his friends. They were trying to contain him without hurting him, too, but there were two of them, passing him off between them and constantly blocking the shot of his still-active cannon. The fight seemed to go on forever, but it couldn't have been more than half a minute before Jolt's electric whips wrapped themselves around his ankles, sending him crashing to the ground. Within moments, he found himself pinned, crying tears of frustration, and still wailing his alarm to the rafters.

Sideswipe was crying too, lubricant pooling at the corners of his eyes and spilling over to stream in two long lines down his face. He held Bumblebee in a tight embrace, pulled hard against his chest, and didn't flinch as the smaller 'bot writhed in his arms.

"Oh, Bee," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

* * *

Bumblebee expected the immobiliser to kick in at any moment and send him crashing into unconsciousness as he struggled to get free. He could hear Ratchet's voice above him, and Wheeljack's, both asking for explanations and urging him to calm down.

He was startled when he felt a new metal device clamped to the back of his neck plates, directly above the immobiliser. A surge of current passed through his armour, and the immobiler purred into life, but more gently than he'd felt it before, the new device mitigating its effects.

His processors remained online, his desperate need to make himself understood still at the forefront of his mind, but he felt a lassitude spread through him. His siren cut off. His limbs went weak, the cannon folding away of his own accord. His senses numbed, the edge of panic fading from his thoughts.

Whatever Wheeljack and Ratchet had come up with to limit the effects of the immobiliser, it felt remarkably good.

"Bumblebee?" Ratchet loomed in front of his face, waving a hand in front of his optics. "You can hear me?"

He beeped a yes, the sound muted as he wondered why Ratchet sounded so concerned. He was having trouble thinking. There was something he needed to tell his friend, something he needed to do. Something really, really important.

"All right, Sides. I think you can let him up."

"Are you kidding?" Jolt's protest was echoed by Mudflap's, the small red Chevy sounding more furious than Bumblebee had ever heard him.

"That slagger almost wrecked my brother! He's lost it! Ga-ga! Short of a few thick planks!"

Bumblebee frowned a little as he tried to remember what Mudflap was talking about. Sideswipe was gently easing him to a sitting position. His dull optics slid past Skids as the world moved around him, and he felt a pang of guilt as he realised the green twin was pale and trembling, supported by half a dozen other Autobots,

Other Autobots! There were other Autobots all around him. And that was bad! With this cloud across his thoughts, he couldn't remember why, but that was bad. He tried to shuffle away, hands and feet scrabbling for purchase as he pushed further back into Sideswipe's supporting arms.

"Easy there, Bee. Easy." Wheeljack filled his vision, the engineer's voice soft and sad.

Bumblebee felt another pang of guilt. He wondered how long Wheeljack had been working on this device, and what it had cost his inventor friend to work on contingencies against the day Bumblebee finally lost his mind. He frowned, the thought troubling him. That hadn't happened had it? He wasn't quite sure what he'd done, but he was quite certain there'd been a reason for it. If only he could…

"We ought to get him back to the med bay," Ratchet was saying, tone heavy.

"No."

The word, and the deep throbbing voice that spoke it, fired every one of Bumblebee's active processors. Everything he was said Prime had to stay away, that there was a threat here. He staggered to his feet, and fell heavily against Wheeljack as the engineer struggled to balance him. Prime was just a few metres away, his sad blue eyes peering down. Bumblebee couldn't stop his wail of alarm as he tried to put Wheeljack between him and the huge figure.

"Ratchet, he's rational? He can understand me?"

Ratchet sighed, leaning against the back of a chair and rubbing his brow as if to ease the tension in his processors. He wouldn't look up, couldn't meet anyone's eyes.

"He can hear you, Prime. As for rational…? We've cut out about ninety percent of his emotional response circuits, reduced the clock-speed on his decision-making processors, and filtered any memory engram that registers above a pre-set anxiety threshold. He's only got about ten percent power to his motion servos. Nothing at all for weaponry."

There was a rising mutter from around Bumblebee. He listened to Ratchet recite the limitations imposed on him and knew he should be angry too. That was no way for an Autobot to live. Not even a real life. He couldn't make himself hate Ratchet for it. Like Wheeljack, he must have been working on this in secret, as sickened by his own actions as the other Autobots were.

There was a defensive tone in the medic's gruff voice as he glanced up at his Prime.

"It's not hurting him. We just thought that if we could get him calm… talk this through somehow…"

He trailed off, silenced by a brusque nod from his leader. Optimus Prime leaned forward, his blue eyes catching Bumblebee's and not flinching back from the terror that lingered there.

"Then we will talk. I would like everyone to clear the hangar. Ratchet, Wheeljack, Ironhide, you may wait by the command gantry. Sideswipe, if you would help our young friend to a chair before you leave, Bumblebee and I have much to discuss."

"Prime, I'm not sure…"

"I shouldn't leave…"

Prime didn't turn to listen to the objections from his first lieutenant and chief medic. He raised a hand, stilling them more effectively than any words could.

"Go," he ordered.

No. Bumblebee shook his head, unable to make his horn respond to his command. He tried to cling to Sideswipe, looking up desperately when his friend whispered an apology before slipping away. Even with his emotions muted, his mind rang with fear and certainty. He was a danger to Prime. He'd done something… something he couldn't quite remember. Prime was at risk.

He sat immobile at one of the deserted coffee shop's tables, propped upright in a chair, but barely able to hold the posture. He slumped forward, arms resting on the table, his optics swivelling to follow his leader. His frown deepened as the tall Autobot crossed to the coffee machine. The warning scrolling through the back of his thoughts suddenly snapped into sharp focus as Optimus Prime turned back, a glowing mug in each hand.

No. He couldn't let Prime taste that fluid. Nothing Ratchet or Wheeljack could devise would block that realisation, but the immobiliser left him powerless to act on it. This time Bumblebee managed to sound two faint, flat beeps, and the sad flicker in Prime's eyes was momentarily replaced by confusion. Sighing, Optimus laid the mugs down, one at his own elbow and the other easily within Bumblebee's reach in case the scout changed his mind.

Prime sat, folding his body into the chair and leaning forward, his huge eyes on a level with his warrior's. The sorrow there deepened when Bumblebee flinched, his weak movements rocking his chair as he tried futilely to push it further away.

"Bumblebee, do you believe me to be a threat to you?"

No. Bumblebee shook his head as firmly as he could, and saw a certain tension drain from his leader's shoulders.

"Then do you believe this situation to pose an immediate threat to your life?"

Bumblebee's eyes flickered towards the poisoned coffee, but Prime's hand was sweeping around in an all-encompassing gesture, taking in the Base, the NEST alliance, and their very presence here on Earth.

Sighing almost too softly to detect, Bee shook his head again.

Prime sat back in his chair, his expression troubled.

"Bumblebee… do you desire an end to your existence?"

Bumblebee almost rolled his eyes. Almost. His gaze slipped again to the radiant coffee mugs, and then up to Prime's deep blue eyes. He wanted to live, but more than anything he wanted the 'bot in front of him to survive. If his own death would accomplish that… Even now, it might already be too late.

Bumblebee had never lied to his Prime. He'd never wanted to. He dropped his eyes away from those of Optimus, and shook his head, answering the question Prime thought he was asking.

The set of Prime's lips told Bumblebee that his hesitation had been seen and misinterpreted. He looked back up into Prime's eyes, silently pleading with him to understand, and was surprised when this time it was the Autobots' leader who looked away. A huge hand played with Prime's coffee mug, twisting its handle backwards and forwards, oblivious to the way Bumblebee's terrified eyes followed every movement.

"I know you have suffered terribly at the hands of the Decepticons. This is not the first time you have experienced torture and mutilation, Bumblebee. You've witnessed atrocities that would have broken weaker minds. It is a great shadow on my spark to know that one so young has seen the worst of this war… and borne it in my name." Optimus sighed, turning back to catch his Autobot's eyes, and searching them for anything beyond the constant fear. "Tell me, Bumblebee, do you hold me responsible for your pain, as I believe you must?"

The beeps were faint, but Bumblebee pushed all the sincerity he could into his blue eyes, tears starting at their corners as even his muted reaction to Prime's guilt threatened to overwhelm him.

Optimus Prime seemed reluctant to believe him, eyes scanning Bumblebee's back and forth. It was maybe half a minute before the Autobot leader slumped back in his chair, a gusty sigh escaping him as he finally dared to believe. He pursed his lips, still looking sorrowful, and more confused than ever.

"And yet, this situation cannot be allowed to continue. You have made your desire to escape this base abundantly clear. I cannot in good conscience allow you to leave alone, young one. Without a voice to seek assistance and cry out for help, I would be sending you to near-certain destruction. But nor can I keep you imprisoned." Prime's expression twisted in distaste. "Your very mind shackled." He glanced to one side of the table, where the wreckage of several chairs and a scorch mark on the floor marked the site of the scuffle. "Your reason at risk."

Prime leaned forward, pushing his untouched coffee mug a little closer to the centre of the table… a little closer to Bumblebee.

"If it is truly your wish to leave at all costs… There are groups of neutrals amongst our people still. Small groups. Timid, for understandable reasons. If I could make contact with one such… secure for you the companionship and mutual protection you need…" Prime took a deep breath, and straightened up, a flicker of pain in his eyes. "Bumblebee, I want you to think about this question. Take all the time you need, but I must know. Do you wish to renounce your commitment to the Autobot cause? That I release you from your oath of loyalty to me and to our companions?"

The question shocked Bumblebee. He tried to imagine life as a neutral: hiding, running, never able to rest. Turning his back on everything that mattered. For the first time in his life he pictured himself in that role, the blue light draining from his optics to leave only a dull, dead white. He could see what the suggestion had cost his leader and the long hours of thought that must lie behind it. Perhaps if Prime had offered this a month ago, or even a week, before the harm was done, the young scout might have accepted. The stain on his honour, and the empty life to which he'd commit himself, would be bearable, buffered by the knowledge that he'd thwarted the Decepticon plans.

His eyes slid back to the coffee mugs, knowing it was too late.

Bumblebee had believed in Prime since he was a sparkling. He'd known those kindly blue eyes his entire life. Grieved for them when Prime sacrificed himself for the least of his friends. He'd believed in the right of what Prime stood for with his very spark, and in the Autobot pledge to protect the innocent, wherever they were found. He still did.

If he could, he'd have reached up to trace the Autobot symbol above his spark chamber with his finger-tips. He didn't. He'd been hoarding his motive energy, charging internal batteries as he struggled to circumvent Ratchet's chains. He wouldn't waste that.

Prime looked startled when Bumblebee pushed up a little from where he leaned on folded arms. The young scout threw a clumsy right hand out and dragged it back, pulling his leader's coffee cup over towards him.

The glowing liquid spilled across the tabletop, the mug rolling away to clatter down onto the floor. Bumblebee watched the leading edge of the spillage advance with hooded eyes. He didn't let himself wince as it reached the arm still supporting his weight on the table. He felt the chill fluid sink between his armour plates, and numbness spreading in its wake. Still reaching out, Bumblebee's right hand searched blindly for the second cup. He forced his head up, eyes wide, when he felt a larger hand guide his into place. Prime's eyes were soft with compassion as he helped lift the mug to his shaking scout's lips.

Smiling one last time, Bumblebee shook his head, managing two faint beeps in response to the question that still hung between them. He took two swigs of the poisoned coffee before the mug fell between his fingers, its remaining contents spilling safely to the thirsty concrete floor.

The tremors that had started in Bumblebee's coffee-soaked arm were met by a new wave, harder and sharper, that spread from his chest cavity. He opened his mouth, and closed it soundlessly, looking at his suddenly-alarmed Prime through a tunnel as vision faded from the edges of his optics. Even as he slid from the chair, unable to support himself against the convulsions wracking his strained hydraulics, he managed to drag a reluctant hand to his chest, laying it over his Autobot emblem.

He was Optimus Prime's to the end.

He was an Autobot, and he would be until his dying day.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

"Ratchet!" Prime's shout held a note of panic Bumblebee had rarely heard from him.

"Get him down on the floor. Move back!" Ratchet's voice had a sharp edge, ordering his Prime about in a way he'd never dream of without the life of a patient at stake.

"Is this that inhibitor thing?"

"No! Shut up and keep back, Ironhide!" Wheeljack was by Bumblebee's side, filling his fading vision and resting a hand on his tossing forehead. "Bee? Can you hear me, youngster?"

"It looks viral!" Ratchet didn't wait for a reply from his patient, even if Bumblebee could have given one. "Wheeljack, you got that scanner of yours on you?" There was a faint noise as Wheeljack handed something over. Ratchet swore as vehemently as Bumblebee had ever heard him, a shadow of real fear in his voice. "It's shutting down his systems faster than I can track them. When did this start?"

"I am not certain…"

"Just keep back, Prime," Ironhide rumbled. "If Bumblebee thought you were the target…"

"Hey… what caused this?" Wheeljack demanded. Bumblebee's body was afire with pain. Convulsions still wracked him, but he'd lost all peripheral feeling long since. His faltering consciousness wasn't even aware of his left arm being lifted, armoured panels being eased aside to reveal the corroded hydraulics and circuitry beneath.

"My coffee… it spilled across him… And then he drank…"

"Sideswipe said he vaporised Skids' mug..."

"Wheeljack! Quarantine that damn machine. I need…. Bumblebee? Damn it, Bee, don't do this to me! It's affecting his spark chamber! We're losing him!"

Bumblebee's optics dimmed, flickered and steadied for a moment. Then they faded out completely. For once in his life, he didn't fight the darkness.

* * *

Incomprehensible shouts filling the air. The buzz of machinery and the wail of alarms.

Panicked voices.

"Bee, you've got to keep fighting!"

"Don't you dare do this to us, youngster!"

"He's crashing again!"

* * *

Quieter now. Sombre voices talking over him in the darkness.

"He knew, Ratchet. He knew exactly what he was doing. And why. He has the spark of a noble warrior." Heavy footsteps paced the room. "I doubted his courage. Offered to send him away. I insulted his honour. And he did this."

A deep sigh. "I think we all underestimated our Bumblebee, Optimus. None of us saw this coming."

"Prime!" Rapid footsteps. A new arrival. "The entire energon system was infected. It was backing up towards the recharge chambers. We caught it in time, thank Primus! No one else…." A voice fading into silence. "How is he?"

Another pause and weary words. "Fighting. The anti-virals are keeping it at bay, but until Wheeljack isolates the source-code, they're fighting for a draw, not a win. Bumblebee has to do the rest. I've done everything I can. Whether it's enough...?"

* * *

"Slag it!"

"Wheeljack?"

"That virus code we isolated from the energon system? It had an incubation period programmed in! We could have lost everyone, Ratchet. We could have had every mech on this base infected before we knew we were under attack."

"Then, why did Bumblebee react so…?"

"I'm not sure… wait! What if it read 'time of infection' on Bee from the virus scrambling his processor? It thought the incubation time had elapsed so kicked in to try and shut him down immediately?"

"Makes sense. But that would mean… By all the Primes, Wheeljack, that's got to mean the two viruses share a common base code. And in that case, we should be able to…" A long pause, tense with anticipation. "There it is: the code that's been trapping Bumblebee inside his own head all this time. And there's another lurking in there too – the instructions to infect the coffee machine maybe. Slag it! I must have loose cogs for brains! How could I not have seen that before?"

"I missed it too. You're tired, Ratch, and worried. We all are." A hesitation. "How's he doing?"

"He's stable. But it's been hours since I finally flushed the attack-virus. He should be improving by now." Another long pause, this time more sober. "Wheeljack… I've already told Prime this. His energon levels went critical more than once before we got this under control. There could be damage to his core algorithms. The longer he stays unresponsive… I don't know. I just don't know."

* * *

Ratchet, alone.

"Well, that's it, youngster. You're clean. The viruses are gone for good. Tricky blighters, but Soundwave got lazy, used the same base code for all three. Once we got the big one on file, the others just popped out of the data-code. We were staring at them the whole time. Couldn't see the forest for trees, these humans would say..."

"Anyway, I just need you to power up and stop cluttering my med-bay. A sparkling like you ought to be out there causing chaos and keeping us old-timers on our toes. Can't have you lying around all day..."

"We've given you your voice back, Bumblebee. At last. Any time you want to let us hear it…? That would be good… That would be good."

* * *

"Has there been any alteration in his condition?"

"Prime, believe me, I'll let the whole base know the moment I see so much as a flicker." Pause. "Ratchet says Samuel Witwicky's on his way?"

"Indeed, Wheeljack. I could not dissuade him from abandoning his studies."

"Good. Maybe a new voice will get through to Bee here."

"Is that probable? As I understand this dormant state…?"

"It's only been forty-eight hours. That's nothing. He's going to snap out of it, Prime! He's got to!"

Silence. Stretching out for an eternity.

"If you wish to withdraw and recharge, Wheeljack, I believe I shall remain here for some time."

* * *

"Bee? It's me." Sam's voice. Strained. "Look, I know we've kind of been going through a tough patch, but you're not going to hold that against me right?"

Hesitation.

"Man, you wouldn't believe how much of a flap you've caused around here. Prime's had the coffee machine replaced with whole new firewalls and lots of technical gismos to stop this happening again. Got some of the best programmers on both sides of NEST working on it. Ironhide's sworn off the stuff for good, and, boy, is he grouchy about it! The twins want to give you a medal. Not for making Ironhide pissed, you know? For taking one for the team."

Silence.

"Ratchet says he's patched you up. Properly this time. Viruses wiped out for good, and I'd swear they've loaded you with almost as much anti-viral software as that damn coffee machine."

"Ratchet says you could wake up any time, but it needs to be soon. Wake up for me, Bee? Please?"

* * *

"Hey there, little buddy." Sideswipe. "Ratchet says you probably can't hear anything, but we figure it's got to be worth a try. Four days in here? Well it's gotta be pretty dull, so I thought I'd come liven it up. Got someone here who wants to say something."

"Uh, yeah, right." Skids, shuffling his feet awkwardly. "Yeah, well. I wanna say thanks, you know? And sorry me and the bro kind of freaked out on you? We didn't know, right? Why you went all Rambo on us?"

"Yeah." Mudflap. Subdued. Sorry.

"We didn't know. We should've. I'm sorry, little bud. We should have known what you were trying to do. You tried so hard to tell us, Bee. And none of us were smart enough to figure it out."

* * *

"Bee?"

Sam.

"Bee? Please? Wake up for me, Bee? Or are you going to lie there all day? I don't know, what kind of lousy car do you think you are? I need you to get your ass back to my place, pronto, mister!"

A pause. "I was going to ask you to stay. When you arrived on that visit. I'm a second year now, and you know the best thing about not being a freshman at my school? You get to keep your wheels. And there I am, still walking. How am I going to pull girls and impress the jocks without my Bumblebee?"

"Ah… you know what, Bee? Maybe we'd better not mention the first part of that to Mikaela. She sends her love, by the way. And yeah, she made me promise to say that."

"Bee…? Bee, I'm so sorry. Please? Just wake up."

* * *

"I don't want to hear this!"

"Wheeljack, it's been six days."

"And I'll wait six years for the youngster to wake up! Six hundred years! Six thousand! I'm not giving up on him, Ratch."

"Did I say I was? I'm just saying… The way his energon levels dropped… We got him back, but… I'm sorry, Wheeljack. It dampens my spark to say it, but we have to face the facts. It's not looking good."

* * *

"How long's he been like this?" A soft voice, feminine, familiar.

"Eight days. It's been eight… oh God…"

"Sam, it's all right."

"Hell, Mikaela! What about this is all right? What could possibly be all right?"

"You need to sleep, Sam. Need to eat. Everyone's worried for you. That's why Will shipped me in."

"Worried about _me_? Mickie… Ratchet says he's sort-of in a coma. That it's getting less and less likely he's going to come out of it. Prime… Prime's talking about sending him off-world. To a place they can keep him safe and looked after until they find a way to wake him up."

"Looked after? That's a good thing, right?"

"Do you have any idea how long they're talking about? It could be thousands of years. Or never. I'll never see him again. I'll… I'll never…"

"Shh, I know, Sam." Tears in both voices now. "I'll miss him too."

* * *

"Hey there, Bumblebee. It's me. Will Lennox?"

"Look, I know you probably didn't expect to be hearing from me. Never had much to do with each other, have we? Even after the kid went off to college, you were always out scouting. And then, just lately… well."

"So, I guess you're getting sick of hearing this. I think just about every 'bot on the base has been in here this last week and a half. Saying it in different ways, of course. Not everyone finds it easy just to turn up and say 'sorry'. But they are, you know. We are. Sorry for letting you down. For shaking our heads and pitying you when you were doing your darnedest to be everything an Autobot should be."

"You know what, Bumblebee? I was going to say 'thanks' – for Prime, and for everyone else. But a soldier doesn't expect thanks for their bravery. They expect respect. And, I've gotta tell you, Bee: you've damn well got mine."

* * *

"Bumblebee."

Optimus Prime. Sitting in silence.

No words left to say

* * *

The light registered first, what little of it there was. It slanted across the ceiling above him, a gradient from light to dark that cast long shadows behind the fluorescent tubes. An uneven edge caught his eye, deep shadows cast where the roof-tiles were misaligned. Automatically, he increased the gain on his vision, wringing the maximum information out of the dim glow, and adding to it with the blue light of his own optics.

The faint illumination had the characteristic pulsing rhythm of an active recharge chamber. It spilled through the half-open side-door that led to the observation room, and Bumblebee knew without checking that was where he'd find Ratchet.

The medical bay itself was dark, its screens dimmed.

It wasn't silent. The soft sound of human breaths drifted across Bumblebee. He felt the faintest of breezes caressing his armour with each exhalation and knew to be careful as he lifted his head and looked down the length of his body.

Sam was slumped across the side of the bed, head cushioned on folded arms that rested in turn on Bumblebee's left forearm. The young human was pale, his hair tousled. A blanket had been draped across shoulders that rose and fell rhythmically – no doubt placed there by Ratchet before the medic withdrew for his own recharge session – and his breath whispered across Bumblebee's skin-plates.

Judging by the depth of the boy's slumber, it was much needed. Bumblebee didn't disturb his human companion, keeping his body still and letting his head fall back to rest on the examination table. His optics dimmed a little as he turned his vision inwards, first studying his internal maintenance logs and then running a complete set of systems diagnostics.

He didn't need to count the number of red-line entries over the last couple of months to know he was lucky to be online. He still found it difficult to believe, lying in a darkened room with only Sam's soft breaths to mark out time. He wasn't entirely sure what had happened.

He remembered… Prime's big blue eyes watching him with sympathy and doubt, and his own sorrow as he drained the poisoned chalice.

He remembered… pain. Error messages. Cascading failures.

He remembered… voices. Lots of voices. Calling to him, offering encouragement, whispering confidences or just speaking across him, unaware that he was listening.

He remembered… Ratchet telling him he was clean – but was that reality? Or just the electronic dreams of disrupted circuits and corrupted memory files?

He almost didn't dare test it. He more than half expected the base's mainframe to reject his attempted access, and choke as he queried the date and time. Starting to believe, daring to hope, he bounced off an electronic message to himself. Staring at his inner screen, he had to fight the urge to react as he read the uncorrupted text that came back to him.

If he'd been a human, he'd have been hollering, howling and crying as he tried to take in the reality of it. Instead he held still, careful not to disturb Sam, and just let the realisation sink into his processors.

Then he did his duty. As any Autobot scout would, he composed his report.

It took longer than he expected to put the explanation his friends had been waiting for so long, and so dearly needed, into words. It was almost dawn when he finished. Outside the four walls of the medical bay, he could hear faint sounds as the human soldiers woke and ate and bathed ahead of the new day. Inside, Sam's sleep had become shallower, his eyes moving behind closed lids, tears pricking their corners as he muttered Bumblebee's name. Turning slightly on the bed, Bumblebee reached over with his right hand, a finger stroking the side of his friend's face.

Sam stirred, reaching up to grasp the metal finger even before his eyes began to flicker. Smiling, Bumblebee looked down into bleary eyes. Taking advantage of Sam's slow, half-awake processors, he took a moment to broadcast his statement on a public channel that would reach the whole base.

_BUMBLEBEE__: I was enjoying the autumn colours when Grindor caught up with me. I thought he'd destroy me there and then. There've been times I kind of wished he had…_

"Bumblebee?" Sam whispered, voice hoarse with disbelief. Bumblebee nodded. Outside, he could hear engines purring into life and a rising crowd of voices. It was time he tried his. He cleared his vocoder with a quiet whirr, braced himself and attempted to speak.

"Yes, Sam," he murmured.

"Bumblebee!" Ratchet stumbled out of the side-room, his recharge interrupted by Bee's broadcast. He stopped in the doorway, gripping the frame as if for support.

Bumblebee pushed himself up to sit on the bed, easing his arm out from under Sam, and bracing himself to take the weight when the young human threw his arms around Bumblebee's armoured chest-plates. Looking over Sam's head, he met the medic's optics, seeing the lubricant pooling there as Ratchet absorbed the content of Bumblebee's long report.

Bumblebee gave an awkward grin, He'd got out of the habit of using his voice, but he knew Ratchet needed to hear it now. "Thank you," he whispered.

Engine noise was growing, med-bay's plasterboard walls trembling as the assembling Autobots jostled closer around it. There wasn't room for them inside. There was only room for Wheeljack, sprinting through the doorframe so fast he almost crashed into it and catching the younger Autobot up in a tight embrace, for Sideswipe, edging nervously around Optimus Prime, and Prime himself, filling the doorway as he gazed at his young warrior.

"Bee…" Sam was shaking his head, trying manfully to stifle the sobs that shook him. "You came back."

Bumblebee blinked, his blue optics meeting his leader's without flinching for the first time in far too long.

"I never left. I never would. I never will."


	8. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

The hillsides lay quiet, their forests resting in the deep of winter. The trees were barren, their autumn display gone as if had never been. Snow marked the hilltops, and frost was everywhere, painting the world in shades of grey and white. There was a cold snap in the air, a chill that made Bumblebee shiver. At least that's what he told himself, and what he'd swear if Sam, sitting in his driver's seat, or Wheeljack and Sideswipe, following close behind him, noticed his shudders.

It felt strange to be driving these roads, a full four months after his cruelly interrupted journey. The weeks he'd spent undergoing repairs, voiceless or dormant had felt like a lifetime, and not just for Bumblebee himself. He didn't blame Optimus Prime and Ratchet for keeping him close to base in the weeks since. He hadn't been keen to venture far himself, revelling in his ability to finally speak to his fellow Autobots, to rebuild friendships and reassure a team that thought him lost forever.

He'd had other reasons to accept his limited freedom and the inevitable constant companionship too. All the times he'd dreamed of leaving NEST, he'd accepted the revenge of the Decepticons as a price worth paying. With that necessity gone, he was as keen to heed his friends' warnings as they could hope for. More so. It wasn't until he found himself bolting back for the hangar at the unexpected sound of a human-built helicopter overhead that he stopped to look at his own behaviour. The realisation that he'd come to associate the world outside NEST with his own inevitable destruction came with a bitter taste.

He was an Autobot scout. He'd survived more time alone in this war than most humans could comprehend. He'd certainly survived more than one skirmish with his courage and honour untarnished. Okay, so this time he'd come close to returning to the All-Spark once and for all. That had always been a possibility and, at its most fundamental level, now that the viruses were flushed, nothing had changed. Nothing but Bumblebee himself. He'd never been a 'bot who jumped at shadows. He wasn't prepared to become one now.

He'd seen the understanding and pride in Optimus Prime's eyes when he'd gone to his leader and told him that he wasn't going to let a single failure against a surprise attack rule his life.

Part of him had wanted to come on this journey alone, simply to make that point. The more rational side of him, and the side that, despite everything, ducked on his wheels every time the shadow of an aircraft passed overhead, had been more than willing to accept company when his friends offered it. He wasn't going to live his life in fear, but he couldn't deny his survival had made him a target. There was no point in making it an easy one.

"You're quiet, Bee."

If he'd been in his bipedal form, Bumblebee might have shrugged. As it was, he hummed briefly, warming up his still little-used voice, and activated his dashboard speakers. "Not much to say."

They were halfway to Sam's college town now, not far from the coordinates of Bumblebee's first, useless distress signal. Sideswipe and Wheeljack had GPS to tell them that, closing in behind him and reassuring him simply with their presence. Sam had only instinct to work with, an instinct that told him his friend was uneasy.

"It must have hurt."

"Not as much as what came after."

Sam patted his steering wheel, the gesture at once awkward and reassuring.

"It's over, Bee. And, okay, I know things are pretty tough right now, but you know what hanging around you guys has taught me? The world's a big place, and it's got some pretty scary stuff in it. Getting scared is normal. It's what keeps you alive. But, you know what? You get scared, and then you get over it. And you kind of come out stronger for it."

Bumblebee thought that over for a few long moments, comparing the boy's words with his lifetime of experience. He couldn't deny their truth.

"Thank you, Sam," he said quietly.

"Any time, Bee. Any time."

There was silent for a while after that, the mayday coordinates passing by with nothing more than a shudder of relief from Bumblebee and of memory from his friends.

* * *

It was perhaps a dozen miles further down the road that something caught Bumblebee's optics. He slowed, Wheeljack and Sideswipe easing to a halt behind him in response to his request for a stop. He felt their concern as he transformed, lowering Sam to the ground beside him and just staring down at the carpet of spring flowers, filling the sheltered valley below. A moment of mechanical music later, his friends stepped up beside him, looking out across the frost-blighted hillsides and letting their optics scan past the valley, oblivious to the golds and reds, the orange and blue flowers that spoke of a warm spring to come and a new year ahead.

Wheeljack eyed him up and down, carefully keeping his voice nonchalant. "Everything okay, Bee?"

Sideswipe wasn't so good at hiding his anxiety, unsheathing his blades and retracting them again in a nervous gesture before his gaze swept the landscape again, searching for threats. "What're we doing here?"

Bumblebee smiled at them, feeling warm for the first time in far too long.

"Enjoying the colours."

* * *

**The End**


End file.
